Life, Love, and Death in Ergastulum
by Awen Sofer
Summary: Daniella Monroe has come home after six years. Though she experienced a different life elsewhere, she is still a spoiled rich girl with a strong will. She will meet two young men who will test that will and everything she thought she knew about the home she left-and despises. She will learn new lessons about life, love, and death in Ergastulum. *Set 18 years before anime time line.
1. Chapter 1

Ergastulum. The armpit of the world. A cesspool of degradation full of crime tycoons making money hand over fist by marketing drugs, sex, and death. God. Why the hell did she come back here?

Daniella Monroe drove down the narrow streets of the inner city just to take a look around before driving to her father's mansion. In Ergastulum, there were dozens of bastard children spawned by a heartless business transaction between a horny Mafioso and a brothel employee. Born without love and scorned by both parents, most of these children became residents of the orphanage to later run the streets like wild animals. She had been one of the lucky ones. Daniel Monroe had taken her in and raised her. He even named her after himself but that was more due to a basic matter of selfish ego rather than fatherly pride. Yet he loved her. For a notorious Mafia Boss, he had been a good a father. Of course a man's career never determines his aptitude at fatherhood.

Daniella would be the first to admit that she had been spoiled beyond reason while growing up. Her father doted on her, buying her everything she wanted and anything he thought she might want. Throughout her childhood she had nannies, tutors, maids, and dozens of 'big brothers' as she referred to her father's subordinates in the organization. They were all one big family. She had everything except for her mother in her life. Her mother had died shortly after her birth. When she was eight years old, when her father thought she could understand, he explained to her that her mother had killed herself with a drug overdose due to postpartum depression. Unfortunately, Daniella was still young enough to blame herself for mother's death. After all, if she had not been born, her mother would not have been depressed which led to her committing suicide. However, it was a childish misunderstanding, a mistake in reasoning of Daniella's immature mind; all of which was cleared up after a few years of therapy and use of a prescription drug or two. That was when Daniella's fascination with the human psyche started. She carefully observed those around her, studying their every word and action to draw conclusions about them. Her father noticed her ability to read people so at the age of thirteen he began using her as a means to recruit new family members and to screen them as prospects before accepting them into the family.

Daniella pulled the car over to the curb to study the people on the street more closely. People watching was one of her favorite pastimes. Nothing had changed there. Just like nothing had changed in this city.

There was a small cluster of men walking down the street wearing suits and openly displaying their weapons in holsters attached to their belts. They must be new here. Although everyone carried weapons in Ergastulum, they were not stupid enough to show them to the world like that because that was an invitation for a street brawl. A herd of children, ranging in age from seven to thirteen, ran down the street weaving their way through the group of men. At least one of the posers got pick pocketed by the kids. Yelling after them, the unlucky individual took off running in a useless attempt to retrieve his stolen wallet. Those kids were younger, faster, and more experienced at crime at such a tender age than he would be for a while.

A couple, a whore and a customer, were being overtaken by the horde of puffed up, overconfident hoodlums. The man glanced around apprehensively with the unmistakable air of a paranoid husband. The experienced hooker clung to his arm and pressed herself to his side as if she were his girlfriend instead of a twenty dollar sex fix. Before the group of men could catch up to them, the woman pulled her customer into the alleyway between two buildings. He was about to get what he had paid for right there among the spilled trash cans and filthy water trickling from the pipes. Gross.

Another working girl prowling about tried to interest one of the men in her wares by readjusting her big breasts in the body hugging white tube dress she was wearing. When none of them took no notice of her, she grew a little bolder, or rather desperate, and reached out to grab one of the gangster wanna bes by the arm. She must not have had any customers in a few days. Street hooking was a fierce battle here because there were several professional brothels. The girls who dared to stay independent, or worse, affiliating themselves with a sleazy, petty pimp, had to fight for customers. The man grimaced with disgust at being touched by the common street whore. Placing his hand over her face, he brutally shoved her away. She hit the brick wall of the building behind her, screaming in pain before sinking to the ground. The men laughed and walked on.

Daniella shook her head sadly, her face pinched in revulsion. Assholes. It would not be long before one of those upstarts crossed a member of an established family. That unlucky individual would wind up with a hole in his head, getting what he deserved for being an arrogant prick. There were always these upstarts who attempted to infiltrate Ergastulum, to form their own crime syndicate. However, there were four ruling families in the city, and they protected their turf from intruders like vicious badgers.

"Get out of here you jerk! There's no reason to hurt that girl!" a woman screamed at them. The source of the voice opened the half-door of her shop where she stood every day selling cigarettes, gum, condoms, and a variety of other items. She assisted the assaulted call girl to her feet, handed her a handkerchief, then sent her on her way with a strong admonition to get a job at one of the whorehouses and stay the hell off of the street.

Daniella smiled. Granny Joel was just as much a part of this city as the streets and buildings around them. She was one of the few good things about this godforsaken place. The self-declared gatekeeper of this neighborhood, the singular paragon of reason in all of the insanity. No one knew how old she really was, but _everyone_ called her Granny Joel. Some people joked that she had been born a grouchy old lady and just grew bigger. Although standing at a little less than five feet tall, she had not grown too much. Despite her small size, she was large in personality and tough as nails. She did her best to keep the scum of humanity away from her storefront, shooing them away like stray cats with her broom. She was like the quintessential grumpy old man who always chased 'those damn kids' off of his lawn. She was quick to offer advice to those people she deemed in need of it whether they wanted it or not.

Daniella noticed the woman staring at her car suspiciously. The tinted windows were keeping her from seeing who was inside. Nosy old hag. Daniella's smile broadened in amusement. She decided to get out to have a nice chat with Granny Joel. What caustic words of wisdom the old bat would have to offer to her today? Turning off the engine, she slid out of the driver's seat without locking the door behind her. She did take the keys from the ignition not wanting to make it too easy for one of the enterprising little thieves who ran the streets to steal her expensive black sports car. Her face broke into a Cheshire cat grin when the woman's eyes opened wide in recognition as she approached the storefront.

"Well, well, if it isn't Bitsy Monroe," Granny Joel muttered, propping her elbow on the shelf built on top of the half door.

Daniella blanched at the use of her common nickname. She hated it. Her father had called her Itsy Bitsy since her birth. Thankfully, everyone else had shortened it to Bitsy. She had always been small. Being born premature, she had gotten off to a bad start. By the time she was thirteen, she had reached her present height of five foot three. At the age of twenty-four, a lot of people still mistook her for a thirteen year old.

"What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you had made your great escape and would never come back to this hell hole. What's wrong with you? Since you got out, you should have stayed out," Granny Joel advised her acerbically.

"Yeah, well, it's like a black hole that keeps pulling me back in," Daniella countered with equal venom. "Actually I'm home to visit for a few months. I just received my Master's degree in Psychology."

"You did? You gonna be one of those head doctors?" she asked, leaning forward with interest. "What do they call them? Shrinks?"

Daniella laughed lightly. No one had called doctors of psychology 'shrinks' in a long time. Granny Joel was showing her age and determination to stick to her old fashioned conventions.

"I'm not sure. I have a lot of job options. I thought about joining a police department. Being a profiler or something, to help catch criminals." She jumped when Granny Joel let loose with a loud, barking laugh.

"Isn't that ironic? So you plan to bring down people like your old man. That's a good way to make Daddy proud!" The woman continued to laugh.

It was ironic she had to admit. But she had experience with the criminal mind that no one else in her classes could even begin to imagine. Cops would not know half of the things she knew about the men they were chasing.

Daniella smiled easily and sincerely at the woman who was scowling at her. Making daddy proud had never been her goal. She had come home to throw it in her father's face that she had graduated, received her degree, and intended to return in the fall to begin the pursuit of her doctorate. She had come back to prove to him just how wrong he had been about her aspirations to go to college. Six years ago, her father's parting words had been hurtful and discouraging. He had told her that she would never accomplish her goal of getting an education, that she would fall flat on her face in a month and return home. He further angered her by saying that he would be waiting for her with open arms to accept her back and a handkerchief with which to dry her tears when she failed. Sheer rage and stubborn determination had made her stay in school. She had gone a step further by refusing his money. Falling back on what she knew best, she had worked in bars as a waitress and a stripper, occasionally pulling a trick or two to make ends meet when the money ran out before the bills did.

"Here," Granny Joel said, handing her a bottle of soda.

Daniella reached into her pocket for money. The woman raised a hand in a stop gesture while shaking her head.

"No. It's on me." Her faded blue eyes grew serious. "Don't stay too long, Bitsy. Get back out of here before you're stuck and can't leave. This place is like a sickness. It gets under your skin, gets into your blood, and then you're infected. You get ate up with a disease for which there is no cure, and you die."

Granny Joel was a wise woman, but Daniella knew the truth of those words already. She nodded good- bye at the woman before turning back to her car. As she was walking toward the shiny vehicle, her eyes skimmed across a young man standing on the corner at the end of the street. Slowing her steps, she paused to examine him carefully. He had shaggy pale blond hair and one eye of which she was too far away to discern the color. His other eye was covered with a square black eye patch. Immediately her mind began to race, forming hypotheses of how he might have lost that eye. She contemplated the possibility that it was all a fake; that the eye patch was something to make him look tougher since he appeared to be a baby faced boy of seventeen at the most. He nonchalantly leaned against the brick face of the building behind him with a cigarette smoked down to the filter held between his lips. A few yards down from him, another boy sat in a crouching position with this back braced against the wall. He had short black hair as dark and glossy as a crow's feathers. His head was down on his arms that were crossed over his knees. He appeared to be sleeping. A long cylindrical object was held to his body with the tip resting on the ground between his feet and the handle extending above his head. The distinct braiding on the handle indicated that the object was a katana. A katana? How odd. She had seen men carry weapons of all sort here but never such an elegant and ancient weapon as that. Who in his right mind brings a sword to a gunfight? People here were hardly ever in their right mind though.

Turning on her heel, Daniella walked back to Granny Joel's store. She asked for chips, candy bars, sodas, and bottles of water.

"Do you know what kind of cigarettes he smokes?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the young man.

Granny Joel leaned over the door to peer down the street. Without saying a word, she walked to the back and grabbed a green and white pack of smokes from the shelf. She threw it into the bag with the rest of the items.

"What are you doing, Bitsy?" Granny questioned her as she punched the clunky keys on her old-fashioned cash register.

"I know what it's like to be on the streets with nothing to eat and nowhere to go," she mumbled, handing over cash for the purchase.

"Those two seem to be good boys. As good as they can be in this place. But watch out," the old woman warned her, holding Bitsy's gaze to relay the gravity of her words. "I can see something in those boys that frightens me. Especially that little one. He's a Tag. He's as hard and emotionless as that wall behind him. And the other? He may look all sweet and cute but he's just about as cold and calculating as his friend."

"I think I know how to handle myself," she rejoined with a wry grin. She pushed the hand holding her change back toward the woman. "Keep it."

"I can't. It's yours," Granny Joel protested. "I've never been one to accept charity, and I don't intend to start now."

"Just think of it as a credit line for those two. Let them buy whatever they want until it runs out," she said, reaching into her pocket for more money. "Here. When it runs out, let me know."

"Bitsy, you can't...you shouldn't...dammit, girl," she muttered when she knew her protests were going to be ignored.

Daniella walked down the street with the bag clutched to her chest. She smiled when the blonde set his eyes on her. His lips spread languidly into a more than friendly smile that was inviting her to come toward him but with a business prospect in mind. He was handsome in a delicate way due to his age, fair skin, and not yet fully developed body. Thin and undernourished, his faded ripped jeans, white t-shirt, and denim jacket hung on his body like clothes on a scarecrow. She glimpsed at the boy hunkered on the ground. He had not moved. It was if he did not know she was there at all. He was awfully skinny as well, wearing a loose black tank top, over-sized black cargo pants, and knee high black and white sneakers. She crouched down in front of him, tapping him on the shoulder. When he raised his head, her eyes met the darkest most vacant eyes she had ever seen. It was as if he was an emotional blank slate. Those eyes were not devoid of thought, only emotion. Despite his already narrow eyes squinting into slits of suspicion, she smiled at him as she crouched down in front of him to be at eye level with him in an effort to show that she did not mean him any harm. Although she doubted she would pose much of a problem for him since he had a sword at his disposal - and he was a Tag. She wanted to help him and be his friend. She held the bag out to him, opening it up so he could see inside.

"Take what you want," she told him.

"He's deaf lady," the other boy informed her, squatting beside her. He gestured in sign language when his friend's line of sight moved to him.

"There's plenty in there for you as well," she said, rising to a standing position when the deaf boy took the bag from her. "You can go to Granny Joel's shop for more later. She'll give you anything you want. It's already taken care of."

"What are you doing here lady?" the blonde asked, reaching into the bag for the cigarettes. A tilted smirk set itself on his thin lips giving him a pretentious and conceited look. "Doing your good deed for the day? Making yourself feel better by helping those less fortunate than you?"

"Yeah, maybe so. Who are you to assume you know who I am or why I'm doing this?" she demanded, watching him as he took a cigarette out of the new pack she had just bought him.

"Because," he mumbled around the cigarette. The flash of the flame from the lighter bathed his pale face in orange light. "I fuck your kind all the time. Bored little housewives who come slumming in the streets to find a dick for hire to spare them from their lonely, horribly predictable lives."

"Hmph," she snorted with aggravation, folding her arms under her breasts. Her eyebrow raised questioningly when his eyes instantly latched onto her D-cup sized breasts. She was built little so her breasts appeared even bigger than they actually were. Her blue eyes narrowed with anger when his single orb the color of a light blue winter sky raised to meet hers. "You think you've got me all figured out? I was born and bred right here in good old Ergastulum. So I was born slumming it, sweet cheeks."

"I've never seen you before. I'd remember you," he assured her, his eye roaming over her with a hungry, greedy look. That gradual, creeping grin of his stretched his lips. "I still think you want me. It will cost you more than candy and cigarettes though. I'm not a kid."

"The hell you aren't," she scoffed, dropping her arms to her sides so that maybe he would stop staring at her breasts.

"So what will it be lady? Want to take me home?" he asked with a cocky attitude and wide sneer. He repositioned his body, facing her straight on with his hips thrust forward and slightly in front of his shoulders; a silent gesture relaying to her that if she was interested so was he and very ready to fulfill her wildest sex fantasies. "I'm not cheap either, but I'll give you your money's worth."

"Come with me," she ordered him, turning on her heel to proceed to her car. "Oh, and tell your friend to come along."

"But he's not a - "

"Yeah, I know. But it's not sex I want you conceited little shit," she informed him, whirling around abruptly to face him. It took every shred of self-control she possessed not to laugh when he slid to a halt before he ran into her. He was taller than her by quite a few inches, at least five or six yet he seemed intimidated by her. She poked her forefinger into his scrawny chest that showed over the top of the gaping collar of the too large t-shirt. "I'm going to put you two to work."

"To work? But that is work," he muttered, rubbing his chest where she had stabbed it with her finger. Indignation ignited his youthful temper, and his single arctic blue eye flashed with fire. "Hey! Just who do think you are? What do you really want?"

Turning her back to him once more, she answered off offhandedly, "I'm Daniella Monroe."

"Daniella? M-Monroe? Like Daniel Monroe?" he inquired, stopping in his tracks once again. "Are you his wife?"

Daniella turned around to see the boy standing there gaping at her. The cigarette hung out of his mouth but did not fall to the sidewalk because it was stuck to his bottom lip. "He's my father. What's your name?"

"I'm Worick Arcangelo. This is Nicolas Brown," he announced, introducing both of them.

"Well, Worick, Nicolas, it's nice to meet the both of you," she said, opening the passenger's side door. "Get in. I've got big plans for the both of you."

Daniella chuckled. She could tell by the thunderstruck expression on Worick's face that he was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 2

I've been sitting on this story for a while. I absolutely adore the flirtatious Worick and the strong, silent Nicolas. When I'm stumped with my other in progress works or attempting to get through writer's block, I'll work up rough drafts of other ideas. Sometimes I'll decide to pull out a few and polish them up for publishing. So here you have the first two chapters in rapid succession. I'll try to update as soon as possible while continuing to work on my other projects. Thanks for reading!

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Daniella expertly maneuvered the car through the streets weaving her way back to the main road that would lead to outer less populated parts of the city where her father's gated mansion stood. She drove up to the black cast iron gates, typing her code into the keypad located out front. All of the lights across the top of the box blinked red and an alarm started to blaring to signal an intruder. She jumped and covered her ears, startled by the noise that threatened to burst her ear drums.

Worick had covered his ears as well, glaring at her accusingly with his one blue eye. Nicolas never moved. Apparently he was not just hard of hearing but was completely stone deaf. He sat still, thoroughly unfazed, gripping the sheath of his katana just below the hilt while he stared straight ahead.

"Who's out there?" a familiar voice demanded through the speaker on the number panel. "State your name or we begin shooting in three, two - "

"Miles it's me!" Daniella butted in, screaming at the top of her lungs to be heard over the alarm.

"Bitsy?" The confusion came through loud and clear in his voice despite the other cacophony of noise threatening to make her as deaf as the boy in the back seat. Suddenly, the sound of the alarm ceased. The only sound remaining was the ringing in her ears.

"Bitsy!" her father's second in command yelled at her through the speaker. "You were almost shot by the snipers on the roof."

"Snipers on the roof?" Worick muttered under his breath.

"It's been six years since you've been home! Why the hell didn't you let us know you were coming? I could have given you the new code."

"Yeah, well, I was trying to surprise you!" she hollered over the relentless bells inside her head.

"Mission accomplished," he responded with a chuckle.

Daniella drove forward, almost pushing open the gates with the front bumper of the car as they slowly swung open. She proceeded down the driveway, bypassing the half circle parking area at the front door. Driving around to the back of the three story residence, she parked in the open air carport located close to the back door. After getting out, she signaled for her guests to follow her inside. She entered the kitchen using her house key to unlock the door. At least they had not changed the locks.

"Welcome home, Bitsy," a tall, broad chested blond man greeted her, enveloping her with his brawny arms.

"Hi there, Miles!" she exclaimed, squeezing him as hard as her small arms would allow her.

"How long will you be here for?" he inquired, leaning against the kitchen counter where she carelessly tossed her purse.

"A few months. Until the next semester begins," she answered, walking into the kitchen where she immediately opened the refrigerator to survey it's contents.

"Who's this?" he asked, staring at the young strangers standing in front of him. "Strays? You were always bringing home helpless animals as a child. I see you've graduated to lost people. Your father isn't going to be very happy about -"

Worick's face never changed expression. The friendly grin stayed put as he confidently stared up at the intimidating man in front of him. Daniella was not sure if Worick was brave or stupid, but he was definitely self-assured.

"My father isn't here is he?" she retorted, pulling a carton of eggs and a package of bacon out of the refrigerator.

"No, he isn't. He's gone to a meeting with the other bosses."

"Why aren't you at the meeting?"

Miles was amazed how much she looked like her father in this moment glaring at him with those cutting, deep blue-gray eyes that demanded an answer.

"One of the newbies went with him. Your father thought it would be good training." He paused, watching her as she spread the food on the counter then commenced to searching for a loaf of bread in the bread box. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to make breakfast for us." She did not care that it was nearly noon. She wanted breakfast food, and she doubted the other two were too picky about what they ate and when. "Want some?"

"The cook can do that. I'll call him. He's taking a smoke break behind the garage."

"I can handle it. I learned to do a lot of things for myself. Did you know that there's a whole world out there where people don't have servants or other employees to do everything for them?" she inquired, her voice rife with sarcasm.

Miles grunted in return, glaring at the blond punk when he snickered at her smart alack retort.

"Are you eating or not, Miles?" she asked, preparing to crack the eggs into a bowl for scrambled eggs.

"No. I'm going out to lunch with some of the guys," he told her, giving her unusual guests a disapproving once over. "Will you be okay here with these two?"

"Yes, of course," she sighed.

It wasn't like they would be alone anyway. The house was never left unattended. A small detachment of Monroe's minions always stayed on the property. Not to mention the dozens of maids, kitchen help, gardeners, and various other employees on site.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then. I'll make reservations at your favorite restaurant for tonight. I'm sure your father will want to take you out to celebrate your homecoming. He will be happy to see you," he said before leaving.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Worick asked, walking toward her.

Daniella thought it endearing how he allowed his arm to 'accidentally' brush against hers when he came to stand beside her. His eye caught and held hers when she looked at him. Such a flirt. Giving him a smile, she said, "I'm so glad you asked."

Daniella set Worick to work whisking the eggs. She pulled out pans and plates before putting Nicolas on toast duty. After putting the bacon in the frying pan, she saw the bin of potatoes had just been filled to overflowing. Diced fried potatoes sounded really good to her. Once three large spuds had been scrubbed clean and dried, she switched Nicolas to cutting them up. Surely he could use a kitchen knife if he could wield a katana as a weapon. She seriously doubted he toted the weapon for decorative purposes or to intimidate onlookers. He could threaten someone just by staring at them with those affectless black eyes and his stoic, apathetic face. The two of them surprised her by being really good kitchen helpers. Between the three of them, they constructed a feast fit for a king.

"This smells so good," Worick murmured, nabbing a piece of the cooked bacon from the plate where it was draining on the paper towel. He got smacked on the hand but still came away with his prize. Smiling at her smugly as he munched on the smoky, salty strip of pork,he mumbled, "So worth it."

Daniella could not restrain her smile. He definitely had some captivating qualities. At least Nicolas had self-control and had not touched a thing including her. These two were probably half-starved. There was no telling when they had their last meal and judging by their gaunt physiques, meals, especially nutritious ones, did not happen often. However, at the moment, nutrition was not the goal but filling their empty bellies. After the food was piled onto three of the largest plates from the cabinets, she grabbed a whole half gallon of orange juice and three glasses. She led them down the short hallway that connected the kitchen to the formal dining room. They sat at one end of the massive oak table built for a party of twelve. Her father greatly enjoyed hosting dinner parties. He would probably host one soon using her as an excuse to celebrate. That was her exact reason for not telling him in advance of her return. She wasn't in the mood to entertain his business contacts. She did not want to smile and laugh insincerely for guests or discuss her father's business while schmoozing with some of the most powerful people in Ergastulum.

Daniella glanced at the two young men flanking her sides since she had posted herself at the head of the table. They were both shoveling in food as fast they could, getting their cheeks so full that they resembled human chipmunks. She was just fine right here with these two pigging out on food she had cooked herself with their help. This was one of things she enjoyed about living in a house with five other girls who were also attending the same university. A bond had formed between them, a family like connection had been established. It was the same warm and cozy familial feeling that she had enjoyed while growing up.

Family was something that could be formed regardless of blood relation. The bonds made by choice seemed to be stronger than those made by the forced ties of being born into a family. She liked it. Perhaps she had decided to help these two for purely selfish reasons, to make herself feel better by making a connection with other human beings. But at the moment, they did not seem to mind at all.

When they were done eating, they each gathered their dirty dishes and made their way down that short corridor back to the kitchen. Sitting their dishes in the sink, Daniella planned to take advantage of the fact that her father had hired people whose job it was to wash them. She loved cooking but hated the cleaning that came with it.

"How about a tour?" she suggested.

"Do I get to see your bedroom?" Worick inquired, taking her hand in his.

"I'm not going to give you a personal tour of my bed," she laughed, removing her hand from his to pat his cheek affectionately.

"Awwww," he whined with a dejected expression.

"Poor baby," she pouted, poking out her lip to make fun of him. Instantly dropping the pitiful expression, she clapped her hands together. "Okay then. Let's go!"

Daniella could not help but notice the upward tilt of one corner of Nicolas's mouth giving him a smug look. He appeared to have enjoyed her rejection then teasing of Worick. These two were something else. Their relationship epitomized the definition of the combined word frenemy. All was fair in love and war, but she wanted neither - just friendship.

In addition to the kitchen and dining room, the first floor contained a massive, extremely formal living room full of luxurious white furnishings; four bathrooms worthy of being in any upscale casino; a room for parties complete with a hardwood floor for dancing, a stage for musicians, and a stocked bar for serving guests; and a sitting room/study for the men who attended the parties providing them a place to hide from their wives to smoke cigars, drink more alcohol, and avoid dancing. The second floor, which was closed off from the second by locked doors, was the location of the office of Daniel Monroe, the living quarters of his men, and a room called the armory that held an arsenal of weapons in a room sized safe. The third floor, also separated by locked doors from the previous floor, was the private suites of Daniel Monroe, his daughter, and several guest rooms, should by some rare chance they have guests. Today was one of those rare occasions. It had not been her plan at the time, but if they wanted to stay, they were more than welcome.

In separate buildings from the house there was an indoor firing range and a two story enclosed garage. There was also an outdoor pool and hot tub that looked like an oasis with palm trees and natural rock built around the free flowing pools that included a small waterfall between them.

"Wow, this is pretty impressive. Nice digs ya got here," Worick commented as they stood on winding cement path that surrounded the pool that had been formed to resemble a lake. He lit up a cigarette, taking it out of his mouth long enough to give her a smile. "So what do you want us to do?"

"I want to employ you two as my bodyguards. I'm sure there will be plenty of other small jobs for the two of you as we go along. I'll make sure you earn your keep," she said, pretending she did not see the lecherous grin on Worick's face. "We can go back inside so the two of you can choose your rooms."

Worick dropped his cigarette into the grass as they walked toward the house, snuffing it out with the heel of his sneaker. He remained disturbingly silent until they reached the third floor.

"So which room is yours?" he asked.

Daniella had been expecting as much. She stopped in front of a set of white double doors that looked just like all the others except for the doorknobs. Instead of plain brass handles with a key lock underneath, these were round white porcelain doorknobs hand-painted with pink flowers set in an ornate brass frame. There were two locks on her door, a key lock and an electronic lock requiring a code be typed into the panel beside her door.

"I should have known," he sighed, looking around to choose his room. He pointed to the set of doors of the room next to hers. "I'll take that one. Nicolas, what about you take that one," he suggested, pointing to the doors across the hall from her room. Giving her a smile, he explained, "So that we can protect you from two angles, Little Miss."

"Little Miss?" she questioned him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Would you rather me call you ma'am? You are my elder being what, twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

"Twenty-four."

"Right. Holy shit, you're seven years older than me?" he gasped in surprise. "You're virtually an old lady. Maybe I should call you ma'am out of respect."

"Listen, you arrogant little asshole," she growled through her teeth, jabbing her finger into his bony chest. "I'm sure you've been intimate with women twice my age so don't you dare call me old!"

"A job is a job," he shrugged offhandedly with an indifferent expression on his face. "All in a day's work. Besides, they're the best tippers. The younger and more beautiful I make them feel, the more money I get."

Daniella turned away from him, suffering a sting in her own guilty soul. She understood the validity of what he was saying. In her moments of greatest desperation, she had taken on customers her father's age or older. They were indeed generous tippers because for a while they were able to feel young again, made to feel sexy and wanted by someone much younger and more attractive than them.

"So are you judging me, Little Miss?" he asked with derision in his voice.

"No judgment here," she said, turning on her heel to face him. She gasped when she came almost nose to nose with him. Although he still had a few years to grow, he was much taller than her and had to bend down to be closer to her level. "You pretend to know me, but you don't. You have no idea who I am or what I've done in my life." She paused to swallow the thickness in her throat that was strangling her. "Stop this right now, or I'll take you back and drop you on your ass on that street corner. You can continue to fuck women old enough to be your mother for chump change."

"Don't threaten me, Princess," he warned her, his voice low and raspy.

Daniella held his challenging gaze as she pulled up the ankle length skirt of her black maxi dress. She jerked the small but lethal Colt Pony pistol free from the Velcro straps that held the easily concealed firearm to her thigh under the loose skirt of her dress. Pressing the nose of the gun to his temple, she gritted her teeth as she glared at him. Her breathing ceased momentarily when she felt the cold blade of the katana pressing into her neck. A chill rushed down her body as if frigid water had been dumped over her head. Goosebumps erupted across every inch of her skin from head to toe as Nicolas's warm breath crawled over the skin of her bare shoulders exposed by her long brown hair that had been put up in a bun. She had not experienced this type of excitement in a while. Her life had not been in any serious peril since leaving Ergastulum. She had been in a few tense scrapes with customers, but those men were nothing she could not handle after growing up here. She had even shot one annoyingly persistent customer who would not leave her alone at a bar one night. Because he had tipped her heavily for dancing, he felt that he had paid in advance for a private show. Being of a differing opinion, she had shot him in the knee when he tried to strong arm her into his pick up truck as she was leaving work to go home. Adrenaline rushed through her veins like fire, making her feel tingly from the inside out.

Pushing her limits and theirs, Daniella engaged the gun pointed at Worick's skull with a click sliding a bullet into the chamber. Her forefinger on the trigger squeezed ever so slightly. She had no intention of killing Worick. She liked him. However, he needed to learn manners since she was going to be his boss. Although she would not shoot him, he needed to know that she was capable of doing so if necessary. She cried out when the sharp blade of the katana bit into her skin. Black spots formed in front of her eyes warning her that she was close to fainting. Her knees weakened and she inclined her body into Nicolas's slight frame that was closer to her size. His arm had enclosed her waist to pull her back while he held the blade with complete steadiness at her neck. If his hand moved, trembled the smallest amount, he would give her a cut across the throat that would require stitches in the best case scenario.

"Nic, NO!" Worick shouted, seizing his friend's hand to stay the weapon before he slit her throat. Nicolas meant to kill her, and he would enjoy doing it. Worick could tell by the hint of sinister glee deep within the glossy black, vacant eyes of his friend. Nicolas had acted on pure instinct, sensing the need to protect his friend from the present danger.

"No, Nic. She won't hurt me. It's a test, don't you see? Let her go," he commanded him as if he were his superior.

Daniella fell forward into Worick's arms when Nicolas removed the sword and retracted his arm from around her body. She panted for air not minding that Worick held her tightly against him. Blood trickled down her neck, dripping onto his t-shirt since she was leaning into his chest.

"You're as crazy as he is," he muttered when he noticed the small grin on her face. Her face virtually glowed, her cheeks bearing a rosy pink coloration. Her eyes were glassy as if she were drunk - or had just experienced an orgasm. He had seen the same kind of expression on many of his customer's faces after giving them the ride of their lives. "You're fucking insane."

"Probably. I've never been officially diagnosed as off my rocker...just teetering slightly on the edge of full fledged crazy," she mumbled, pulling herself free from his arms. Her body was trembling as the adrenaline coursed through her veins.

The adrenaline made her want to want to drag him into her bedroom and work through the energy jolt she had received. Being in his arms had felt good, but she needed to separate herself from him. She was his boss, and she had told him from the beginning that she had not brought him here for sex. Taking a glimpse of his lips that seemed plumper, swollen with desire, made her want to kiss him. Maybe he had experienced an adrenaline rush of his own and needed a physical release to be relieved of it. But she would not do that. She turned her back to him, moving between him and the keypad to shield it from his prying eyes as she typed in the code to unlock her door. Hopefully that code hadn't been changed. The little light above the numbers switched from red to green and a click was heard as the lock disengaged. She was wearing the key to the second lock on the bracelet on her wrist. It was small for a key but had looked like an over-sized charm on the bracelet. She left the door open, allowing them to follow her inside.

Nothing had been touched in here. The room was clean due to being dusted and vacuumed, but everything remained just as she had left it six years ago. Tears filled her eyes when she saw the vase of pink carnations, her favorite flower, sitting on her make up table. Apparently her father had those put in here on a regular basis in case of her return. Their spicy yet sweet aroma filled the air. She sniffed them deeply, allowing the silky petals to tickle her nose. Opening the top left side drawer of the table, she pulled out two keys for their rooms. She had always kept copies in her room. As a child she had liked to play in those rooms by setting up 'house' or engaging in hide and seek with the maids.

"Here. These are yours," she said, pressing a key into each of their open palms. She gasped when Worick seized her wrist, pulling her into him. Her fingers spread across his thin chest as his eye delved into hers. Although he had only one eye, it didn't prevent him from giving her intense gazes that reached into her very soul. His eye dropped from hers, lowering to her neck. His fingers tenderly pressed to the skin around the cut to remind her that she had been injured by the sword and was still bleeding.

"You should take care of this. Do you need my help?" His fingers moved around the cut tentatively in an attempt to discern its exact length and depth.

She gulped, the sound audible to the both of them.

"I'll be fine. I can take care of it," she assured him, once again extricating herself from his embrace. He was a whole lot stronger than he looked. Her eyes caught sight of the red splotches on his otherwise spotless white t-shirt. "Oh, and I'll find something else for you to wear as well."

"For the time being, I think I'll go take a shower. I might even lie down to take a nap. Nic and I didn't get much sleep last night," Worick said, motioning for his friend to follow him.

"Okay. I'll just leave the clothes by your door."

When they left her room, they closed the door behind them automatically engaging the electronic lock. Daniella dropped onto the puffy, pillow like cushion of the chair set in front of the little table bearing a three way mirror. She looked at her reflection, examining the wound carefully. It was nothing more than a mere scratch. Nicolas had only pressed the blade into her skin creating a shallow and superficial injury. She shivered to think that the katana was so sharp that merely putting pressure on it had caused the blade to separate her skin. Just as she had thought, he knew exactly how to use that weapon. And he was fast. She had never seen him move nor did she hear the distinctive metallic hiss of the weapon being unsheathed.

"You _are_ crazy," she told her reflection.

Suddenly, she felt tired, absolutely drained of all energy. A shower and a nap sounded like a great idea.


	3. Chapter 3

After waking up from her nap, Daniella took one of her own oversized t-shirts out of her drawer. She lay the neatly folded bundle in front of the door to Worick's room without knocking. Taking a deep breath to shore up her courage, she walked down to the next floor to her father's office. Surely he was home by now considering it was after six o' clock. It wasn't that she dreaded seeing her father. She dreaded the emotional implications that would come, the looming possibility that she might change her mind and stay. She couldn't remain in Ergastulum. Worick's face flashed through her mind. She couldn't stay for any reason.

"Itsy Bitsy!" Daniel Monroe exclaimed when his daughter opened his office door. She was the only person on earth who he had ever allowed to enter his office without knocking. Before she could step even come in, he was in front of her, putting his arms around her for a welcoming embrace. "I've missed you, baby."

"I missed you too, Dad," she murmured, pressing her cheek to his chest as he hugged her tightly.

Daddy's little girl could be a stubborn pain in the butt, but Daniel Monroe loved his daughter with all of his heart. Daniella had his brown wavy hair and blue eyes but her build and beauty were straight from her mother. She had his independent, strong willed nature which had been both a source of pride and frustration for him. His little girl was the best of himself and her mother wrapped into one human being. He had loved her mother dearly as well. It had nearly killed him when he learned of her mother's suicide. Maybe it was guilt that had caused him to take the motherless child in. He had blamed himself for not being there when her mother needed him the most. Perhaps it was ego that had driven him to raise his daughter. He would be damned if he was going to let the gossip monger's say he was a man who could not take of his obligations or fix his mistakes.

Although the pregnancy had been unplanned, Daniel never considered his daughter to be a mistake. The child had given him a reason to live, to continue to strive to be one of the ruling families of the city rather than continuing to be the leader of a small time organization. He had feared at first that his daughter would be a weakness, a helpless pawn that could be used against him. But as she grew older, he discovered that she would become a valuable asset to his organization and would one day be his successor. In her teen years he had seen something in her that impressed him and sometimes frightened him. She could understand people on a deep, visceral level; perceiving their intentions, discerning their aspirations, virtually reading their minds. She could tell him exactly what kind of person they were and how they would fit into the organization or if they fit at all. Despite her good instincts, she had occasionally missed the mark which served to remind him that she was only human after all. He knew he had unfairly relied on her for many years when recruiting and hiring new members. However, he also knew that with her the family would be in capable hands. She would be a great leader of the Monroe family some day. He just hoped she realized her importance to the organization soon and accepted the future set before her.

Daniel had been disappointed and downright broken hearted when his baby had left to attend university. There had been no reason for her to seek a higher education. A successful business, a whole freaking empire, would be hers some day. His faithful second in command, who seemed to understand the girl better than him, explained that she was doing it for her own personal reasons. She wanted to learn about herself and how she fit into the world; a world beyond the one her father had made for her. This explanation had given him comfort through the six long years she had been away. Besides, he would allow her to play in the world outside of Ergastulum until her heart was content because he was here to run things. If she had not returned on her own, he would have gone to find her to bring her home where she belongs. His patience had been rewarded because his little girl had come back to him.

"Daddy," Daniella wheezed because he was squeezing her so vigorously.

"I'm just so happy you're home!" he exclaimed, swinging her around before setting her down on her feet. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he released her. "Sit down and stay a while, baby girl," he invited, motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He sat down in the high backed rolling chair that was upholstered in the same dark brown leather. "I'm glad to see you've decided to come back home. It's been a long time. You're here to stay...right?"

"Oh, Daddy," she mumbled, dropping into one of the overstuffed chairs covered in the smooth fabric that warmed with her body heat.

"I heard you brought home two stray pups from the streets today," her father commented, lighting a cigarette that he took from the teak wood box trimmed in 24k gold. He pushed open the screenless window behind him so the smoke would be carried outside inside of floating toward his daughter where it would hang in the air around her head and filter into her lungs when she breathed.

"Miles is such a tattletale," she groused, folding her arms over her chest. "If you recall Father, some of the best men in your organization were once strays roaming those same streets."

"Father?" he muttered, his eyebrow arching upward inquisitively. He blew out a cloud of white smoke in such a way that it seemed he was blowing away the sound of her cold, formal reference to him. "It is just as you say, Itsy Bitsy. You are responsible for finding some of the best men in my organization on the streets, including Miles the tattletale. So what about these two? Do you think they would be a good addition to the organization?"

"One is for sure. The other I haven't quite determined what his usefulness would be. However, they seem to come as a set, mutually inclusive of each other," she answered, standing to her feet. She walked to the window so she could look outside to avoid his nerve wracking scrutiny. Did she want them to be permanent part of the family? _Her_ family? She paused thoughtfully, considering her next words carefully before she spoke them. "The one boy is a Tag. He carries a sword." Her fingers rubbed across her throat recalling the cut he had made there. She should have worn one of her sleeveless mock turtleneck shirts or a choker necklace to hide the mark. Thankfully, her father did not seem to notice the small cut. "His friend is...something else. I found him on a corner waiting for customers. But he does have his charms that are somewhat overdeveloped due in large part to his occupation. He could be a useful asset when those of the female persuasion need to be swayed in a certain direction for a business decision. Or distracted for a myriad of other reasons."

Daniel contemplated what kind of distraction the boy would be for her. His daughter had been misled by a young new member once before. However, she was old enough and smart enough to have learned a very difficult lesson that he knew she had no desire to repeat.

"You always did have way with words," he chuckled, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the cut crystal ashtray. "I think that's one of the things that has enabled you to deal with some of the more disagreeable, shall we say, parts of this business."

Daniella sighed when her father stood next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him heavily, suddenly feeling weary after thinking back to some of those unsavory aspects of running a mafia.

"Daddy, it was never an easy thing to see a man executed, shot in the back of his head with his brains blown out through his mouth and ears," she said, turning her head to look at him. "No amount of imagination or fancy words could make that a pretty memory."

"I know." He pushed a long stray lock of her glossy brown hair behind her ear. He patted her cheek gently. "But you handled that and many other things so bravely. You're so strong yet you have been able to hold onto your sweetness."

"Yeah, well," she sighed, turning on her heel to walk away from him. "What other choice did I have?"

Daniella unexpectedly experienced an epiphany, discovering a truth about herself. She had decided to pursue an education in psychology not to understand her suicidal mother or what drove people to be murderers and thieves. Her career choice had been made as a means to find a way to deal with her own pain, her own emotional weaknesses. Self-preservation and fear had motivated her to seek a deeper understanding of the human psyche and how to heal a fractured mind. Depression had been a life long battle for her. The idea that she might one day reach that point of no return and take her own life before anyone could intervene terrified her.

"...about these two," her father was saying when her train of thought slowed down a bit. "What do you really think about them?"

"I'm not sure. I will have to learn a little more about them," she said, shrugging out of her father's sideways embrace.

"Just how much do you want to know about them?" he questioned, his voice hinting that she might have a much more personal reason for bringing them here.

"Not _that_ much," she snapped, rolling her eyes.

"That's good to hear," he sighed, relief evident in his voice. "So do we still have a dinner date tonight?"

"Should I rouse up the newbies to go too? At the moment, I've employed them on a temporary basis as my bodyguards."

"Temporary? What do you mean temporary?" he asked, watching her walk toward the door.

"I don't plan on staying, Daddy. I'm going back to school in three months," she answered, hearing the uncertainty in her own voice. She was going back...right? That had been her plan, and she needed to stick to it.

Daniel decided to sidestep that issue and save discussing it for another time. Talking about her plans to leave again would result in an argument. Angering her would drive her away faster and destroy any chance he might have at convincing her not to leave him.

"I want to take my little girl out for a fantastic dinner for two and - "

"Aw, Daddy don't be funny. We don't go anywhere without at least two of your men with us," she reminded him.

They had never done anything without having armed bodyguards with them. Taking a simple stroll on their property included an armed man walking ahead of them and one behind. When they went to restaurants, the men would sit at a separate table, but they were still there making their presence known to everyone around them.

"Go get your boys and have them down in the car in fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting for them," he said, stubbing his cigarette out violently in the ashtray on his desk.

"I can't possibly be ready in fifteen minutes!" she exclaimed, positively aghast.

"I didn't say you had to be there." He smiled at her, but there was nothing friendly about it.

"Daddy - "

"Don't worry. I'm going to take them shopping. I'm sure they don't have any clothes appropriate for the restaurant...or to look like respectable bodyguards for my baby."

Daniella opened the door to leave, glancing back apprehensively at her father. She closed the door behind her after he waved her away with a shooing motion. He used to do that to her when she was a child to get her out of his office. There was no telling what he had in mind to say to those two. She grumbled under her breath. He would probably go all parental, unleashing full Dad mode on them by giving them the 'if you lay a hand on my daughter' speech.

"Ugh!" she groaned, unlocking the door to the top floor.

Daniella went to Worick's room to wake him. She knocked lightly and waited. Nothing happened. There was not a single sound from the other side of the door. She pressed her ear to the door to listen. Rapping harder on the thick door made of solid oak made her knuckles hurt. She was studying her hand, rubbing her sore joints when the door opened.

"You need to get dressed and be downstairs in fifteen minutes. My father will be wait-" As soon as she laid eyes on him, the words froze in her throat. He was not wearing a single stitch of clothing, not even underwear. She had seen naked men before but she was not expecting to see this particular one naked - ever. The first thing that she noticed was that he was incredibly hairy. Thick, white blond hair covered his whole body like the fuzz on a peach. It caught her off guard that he was more than skin and bones. Lean, firm muscle made bumps and bulges along his upper arms in well formed biceps and triceps. His belly actually caved in he was so underweight but the ridges of muscles across his abdomen were defined. His thighs were toned and muscular instead of having the appearance of thin sticks. Although his nearly platinum eyebrows and eyelashes had confirmed that he was a true blond, she had irrefutable evidence that he was indeed a natural blond from the tufts of white pubic hair. Judging by a certain manly attribute, she had hard proof that led her to believe he must be _really_ popular with his customers for more than his delightful personality.

"What were you saying?" he yawned. Since he was still half asleep, he seemed oblivious to her gape mouthed shock, wide staring eyes, and red face of embarrassment.

"You need to get dressed. My father will be waiting for you in the car," she informed him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you all right?" he asked, opening his one good eye to look at her. His longish hair had flopped over the other eye to cover it, but she could see that he was not wearing the eyepatch because there were no strings tied around his head to keep it in place.

"I'm fine," she answered in a robotic monotone. She made sure to keep her eyes attached to his face lest they drift down to where they should not.

"Are you sure? You look ready to faint."

"Maybe I am." She did feel a bit overheated and more than a little dizzy.

"Huh?" He was an absolute mess with bedhead and pillow face. That dumb look of drowsy confusion made him look even cuter.

"Nothing," she snapped, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Please tell Nicolas. You both need to hurry. I'm going to my room now."

"Okay," he mumbled, watching her totter off unsteadily toward her door. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine!" she yelled back, slamming her door as if to punctuate her sentence. Getting ready would take longer now that she required a cold shower. "Dammit," she growled, disrobing on her way to the bathroom. "Get it together. He's just a kid and you're - "

 _An old lady,_ his voice echoed in her head.

"Jerk," she snarled through her teeth that were gritted against the freezing water. "I'm not old. Just _older_ than you."

The cold water worked like a charm. Daniella was once again calm and back in her right mind. Her skin tingled, and she felt invigorated. Drying her body with a soft towel, her hand stilled when she came to the tattoo on her upper right thigh. Her fingers traced the black lines that surrounded her leg like a ring. Instead of merely buying matching Claddagh rings as a sign of their friendship, she and her friends who were also her roommates, had them tattooed on their bodies. They had each chosen different parts of their bodies including wrist, ankle, forearm, calf, upper arm, and upper thigh. The Irish symbol, a heart held by a pair of hands with a crown over the top, symbolized love, loyalty, and friendship. Each woman had designed her own Celtic knot of thick black interwoven lines of varying patterns to complete the ring by forming the band around the chosen body part where the tattoo had been placed.

With a snort of surprise, Daniella realized she had formed her own kind of organization. She and her friends had pledged their friendship to each other, promising to always help any sister in need, coming to her rescue no matter what the trouble may be or where she may be. The first time in six years, she considered the idea that she might stay. She could work closely with her father, learning everything she needed to know before taking over the family.

Granny Joel was right. This place was like a disease that gets into a person's system. Daniella thought she had been cured. Instead, the sickness had only grown worse. She had not been back for twenty four hours yet and was already rethinking her decision to leave. But she had promised herself that she would go back and make a different life somewhere far from here. A life that did not involve crime and murder, useless violence and needless death.

Daniella picked a little black dress made of taffeta and chiffon to wear. Spaghetti straps and a free flowing skirt that stopped just above her knee made it a good dress to wear in the summer. Summers in Ergastulum were unbelievably hot with oppressive humidity keeping the temperatures in the eighties long after the sun went down.

"Why did you _really_ come back here?" she asked herself, glowering at her reflection in the mirror of her make up table. No answer came to mind. She jerked her still wet hair up into a ponytail, looping it around into a loose messy bun that she secured with a few bobby pins.

Daniella sighed sadly. She longed for tranquility and simplicity. Here was the wrong place to find those things, but she had been drawn back because this was home. This place was like a damn black hole. She had escaped for six years and like a vortex of swirling doom it had sucked her back in. In three months she would be leaving again, most likely to never return. Three months, no longer. Hopefully. Maybe. God, she was in trouble.

"Bitsy! Let's go!" Miles bellowed, beating on her bedroom door as if to knock it down.

"Fucking hell, Miles!" she shouted after he made her heart jump into her throat. "You scared the hell out of me!"

The man was like a an annoying older brother at times. Other times he acted as a second overprotective father despite being only twelve years older than her. It had occurred to her from time to time that her father would like for her to marry Miles. She shivered at the thought. She could never think of him in a romantic sense, only as a sibling. Besides, she had brought him into the Monroe household as an employee eight years ago, not a possible future husband. It would be way too weird to establish a more intimate relationship with him for many reasons.

"Daniella Fiona Monroe! Hurry your ass up! We have reservations!" he hollered impatiently.

Oh, the middle name. Dad number two was getting serious. Seriously impatient.

"I know! Would you shut up already?!" she yelled back like an obstinate child. She slid her feet into her black sandals decorated with rhinestones across the straps. She snatched open the door so forcefully that it created a breeze which ruffled his light blond hair. She laughed uproariously because he jumped like a terrified girl who saw a spider. "Geez, some highly trained bodyguard you are."

"I suppose your two little boy toys can do a better job of taking care of you?" he muttered, holding out his arm for her to take so he could escort her down to the waiting car like a gentleman.

"Jealous much?" she joked, patting his forearm with her other hand.

"Hmph," he snorted like an indignant old man. "I'm not jealous. Just a little worried. I don't trust those two."

"You don't trust anyone until they've proven themselves trustworthy. It's your job to be cynical. That's why father keeps you close to him. He trusts you implicitly," she remarked as he led her down the stairs.

"How long do you think those two will last?"

"Three months at least. After that, I don't know. I really hadn't planned on it being a long term thing since I won't be here for long."

"You're leaving?"

"Mm-hm," Daniella replied, keeping her eyes focused on the sparkly straps of her shoes to avoid looking at his face. He would have those pleading, puppy dog eyes, and she could not stand it.

"Why do you want to leave again? I thought you had come home for good. Your father has missed you," he told her, opening the door for her to lead her

"Is he the only one?" She nudged him in the side with her elbow. She snorted and laughed when he gave her a goofy smile.

"Of course I missed you, little sister. But why I would miss an annoying pain in the ass, I don't know," he teased, chuckling when he received a punch in the arm.

"You're such an ass!" she giggled. "So mean! And I don't even have anyone to tattletale to like you did."

"Life's not fair sometimes is it?" He stuck his tongue out at her.

Daniella laughed and hugged him. "I've missed you too."

After helping her into the car, a comfortable silence enveloped them as both of them retreated into their own thoughts on the ride to the restaurant.

Miles slid a sideways glance at Daniella. Although she still looked the same on the outside, he could tell something within her had changed. She had developed strength he had not seen in her before. Of course, he would never forget that night so many years ago when he had seen her so broken, shaken to her core and devastated. For a while, he had wondered if she would survive the incident.

The boy, a sixteen year old named Romeo was one of Daniella's many finds who had been drafted into the organization. Maybe they should have all been leery of someone bearing that particular name considering Romeo was a major character in an epic literary tragedy of deceit, betrayal, and death. Daniella had been his Juliet. Romeo had been interested in getting close to the boss and even closer to his daughter. Then he betrayed them both. After being with the family for less than a year, he had been caught selling guns he had stolen from a shipment paid for by another client. That suddenly explained why several clients had been extremely dissatisfied with the Monroe Organization and were threatening to take lethal measures to save face while demanding to have their money returned to them. Romeo had stolen more than guns and money. A few days later, Daniel Monroe found out that his daughter, who had just turned seventeen, was pregnant. The turncoat was already going to receive severe disciplinary action for his treachery so when the boss received the new revelation, the punishment became a death sentence. Daniel Monroe shot that boy execution style with the kid down on his knees, sniveling and begging for his life until the bullet entered his skull. He had no idea his daughter had walked into the room and saw the whole thing. The trauma of what she had witnessed in addition to the emotional implications of Romeo's treachery caused her to miscarry the sixteen week old fetus. The months following were hell for everyone. Daniella lingered at the edges of sanity, barely clinging to her life as she attempted to cope with an aching heart wounded by broken trust while mourning the death of her lover and child. One day she suddenly seemed to snap out of the depression. A week later, the day after her eighteenth birthday, Daniella made the announcement she was leaving for university.

The first year of her absence, Miles had been able to hang on to the tenuous thread of hope that she would come home. During the second year, his grip began to weaken. By the end of the third year, he had lost hope entirely that she would return. Miles had resigned himself to the fact she would never come back yet here she was, sitting on the seat next to him. The blonde he had met this morning reminded him far too much of Romeo - in looks at least. In personality, he had been more like the other boy. Romeo was a Tag whose weapons of choice were throwing knives. It was as if the two young men she had brought home were that kid in two separate bodies. It was obvious to Miles that she had not made that connection yet. With any luck, she never would. The most painful parts of the past should stay there; gone for good, never to be remembered.

"Miles? Are you all right?" Daniella asked, squeezing his hand to get his attention.

"I'm fine. Why?" he questioned her apprehensively.

"We're here. I'm starving. Aren't you?" She did not wait for him to get out to help her out of the car. Scooting to the edge of the seat, she opened the door and stepped out onto the curb all by herself. She had felt like a princess when he escorted her down to the car but that moment had passed. For six years she had managed to walk by herself and get in and out of cars without a man's assistance.

Daniella was greeted with cool indifference by the handsome maître d' dressed in a tuxedo with a bow tie. She could tell when Miles walked in behind her because the aloof man's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. Minutes before he had all but ignored her save giving her a disdainful once over. Upon realizing she was a member of the Monroe party, and not just any member but Daniel Monroe's daughter, she instantly became the most important customer in the place. She politely declined with a delicate sniff and haughty raise of her nose into the air the proffered arm he gave to her to lead her to the table where everyone was waiting.

"Itsy Bitsy, my darling girl!" her father exclaimed happily, rising to his feet when she entered the room. He pulled out the chair next to him for her to sit down.

Daniella glanced at Worick who would be sitting on her other side. He looked positively dashing; older and extremely handsome, refined even, in his new black suit paired with a frosty blue silk shirt and tie that matched his eye color perfectly. Nicolas would be sitting on the other side of Miles who was taking his seat on her father's right side, her father's literal right hand man. Nic cleaned up nicely. He did not look uncomfortable or seem to feel out of place at all in his charcoal gray suit and wine colored shirt that was open at the neck with no tie. They not only looked respectable, they were both quite fetching and debonair. For some reason, pride swelled within her. So far, her decision to hire them seemed pretty sound. Nicolas was a fantastic swordsman, stoic and calm. Worick worked well under duress and knew how to control himself, reining in his automatic physical and emotional responses.

Daniella leaned toward her father to receive a kiss on the cheek before sitting down in her chair. She held her breath when she felt a sensation of warmth, then the light tantalizing brushing of the rich fabric of Worick's suit against her arm as he inclined his body toward hers.

"You look beautiful, princess," he complimented sincerely.

"You're looking mighty handsome yourself, Mr. Arcangelo," she returned, turning her face toward him. Her breath whistled as she inhaled sharply in surprise from his unexpected closeness.

"Don't be so nice. I might get the wrong idea and think you actually like me," he said, his breath rushing across her lips.

Daniella barely resisted the desire to sigh. His breath had been like a soft caress on her lips. It was like the promise of a kiss; a kiss she would like to have. She smiled nervously, feeling sweat begin to bead above her lip and across her forehead. Her eyes briefly met his before they fell on his lips which were full and pouty and so close to hers.

"Well, I don't recall saying that I didn't like you," she murmured, her eyes moving back up to his. She found herself mesmerized by that one striking blue iris. If he had two of those captivating baby blues, she would be a goner for sure, head over heels for someone who was trouble on two legs.

"I'd like to make a toast!" Daniel Monroe announced, raising his glass of wine.

The spell between her and Worick was instantly broken. Daniella had no idea when the wine had been poured, but she picked up her glass to take a big sip without waiting for her father to finish the toast.

"To my daughter, who has gone out into the world to make something of herself, but she still chose to come back home to her old man. One day she will be your boss so you all better be nice to her."

 _Gee, thanks, Dad. That's not emotional black mail at all!_ she thought to herself, tipping her glass to touch her father's. The distinct ring made by real crystal glasses cut through the air and the dull roar of the murmurings of the men talking at once. She drained the rest of her glass. Within seconds, there was a helpful waiter there to refill it. It had been unfair of him to take advantage of having a public forum like that. Chuckles erupted around the room from the dozen or so men who had joined them for their nice, quiet, little daddy/daughter dinner. Daniella rolled her eyes. The simple things were never simple. They were incapable of just having a dinner for two.

"So you're going to be the Big Boss someday, huh? The little mafia princess. I suppose you'll need a big strong man to take care of you," Worick said, his voice so thick with bitter sarcasm she was stunned he didn't choke on his words.

"If you know one, be a doll and send him my way, will you?" she countered with equal rancor. She smiled at him, and he easily returned her smile. When he raised his glass, she touched hers to it to make them ring. Sarcasm was a language they both spoke fluently. They were going to get along great.

Dozens of bottles of wine, whites and reds from all over the world, had been brought out to be sampled. The owner of the restaurant had opened his private wine stash to bring out the best. Food came heaped in large bowls and piled on platters that never seemed to end; buttery and garlicky bread sticks, antipasto salad, fresh mozzarella and tomatoes, lasagna, ravioli, cannoli, and tiramisu. Between the copious amounts of food and wine, everyone almost put themselves into a stupor.

"Time to load up and go!" Daniel Monroe announced. They had just finished off the last bottle of wine brought up from the reserve so it was time to leave.

"Good. I'm ready for bed anyway," Daniella yawned, pushing her chair back from the table.

"Bed sounds like a really good idea to me too," Worick murmured near her ear as he held her chair for her while she stood up. "Yours or mine?"

"Mmmmm," she purred, patting him on the cheek. She felt good. Her body was warm, numb, and totally relaxed. Her brain was in pretty much the same condition. She was too drunk to put up her walls or be offended by his blatant salacious remarks. "We can decide when we get home."

"When we get home? We're not going home," her father said, taking her by the hand to lead her away from the young man. The boy had brass balls to act in such a way in front of him. He had to admire the kid's gumption. At least Worick was honest with his lecherous intentions, putting them out there forthrightly and honestly. Unlike that Romeo kid from so many years ago. His blood still boiled when he thought about that little bastard. Shaking his head, he shook off the thoughts of the past. None of that mattered now. His little girl was home, and he was going to enjoy her company.

Worick ran ahead of them to open the car door for Daniella. Since he was getting paid to take care of her, he might as well start acting accordingly.

"Where are we going?" Daniella asked as she ducked to get into the car.

Daniel smacked Worick across the back of the head before lowering himself onto the seat next to his daughter. He would put a tight leash on that boy right now to prevent future disasters.

"To see your Uncle Luca. He should celebrate your homecoming with us."


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey! You can't bring a kid in here!" Luca Cristiano shouted when he saw the petite brown haired girl enter the nightclub area of his bar and bordello named _Bastard_. Then he recognized the man escorting her inside to be his friend Daniel Monroe. Immediately he knew the girl he had mistaken for a child was Monroe's twenty-four year old daughter and his own goddaughter, Daniella. She looked all right. She looked better than all right; relaxed and happy, much healthier than she had before she left. Apparently she had not been home long.

"Luca! My friend!" Daniel greeted him.

"Well, if it isn't my old pal, Gunslinger Danny!" Luca returned, extending his hand to receive a robust and amicable handshake.

Luca immediately waved him off, sidestepping him to embrace his lovely goddaughter. He had thought Daniella would never return after what her father had done.

"Bitsy! I'm so happy to see you!" he exclaimed, squeezing her tightly.

"Hello, Uncle Luca."

One day Luca wanted to have a beautiful little girl who would take over his organization. He wanted his girl to look just like him. Fortunately for Daniella, she looked like her her mother. Moira had been one of his best girls, gorgeous and a real money maker. If his friend Daniel had not taken an interest in her, he would have gone after her himself. He patted his friend on the back, leading him and his fairly large entourage to a corner table in the crowded bar.

"I've got a special table reserved for VIPs like you."

Daniel Monroe and Luca Cristiano had been friends since they were both young hoodlums running the streets together. Back then, they had only dreamed of becoming the men they were today. Together they had clawed their way up to the top of the heap in the city's crime based society. The fact that the two Big Boss's business ventures did not conflict enabled them to stay friends. In actuality, their businesses coincided and perpetuated each other like a mutually beneficial symbiotic relationship akin to that of a host and a parasite. They fed off one another, and it benefited everyone around them. Cristiano peddled booze and broads. Monroe trafficked weapons and drugs. Monroe and his men enjoyed drinking and sampling the wares of the brothel. The weapons he sold were bought by Cristiano for his men, and the drugs were bought for distribution among the prostitutes and customers. Celebrer was among the plethora of drugs brought in by Daniel Monroe which was a major source of income for them both. Daniel Monroe single-handedly controlled the flow of Celebrer in Ergastulum. He had a niche market, a captive consumer base for the primary drug he sold. After all, Celebrer is the drug the Tags required to keep themselves alive. Cristiano made at least half of his fortune from supplying Tags with the Celebrer and permitting them to use his establishment as a safe haven. In turn, Monroe's organization provided at no cost to Cristiano an added degree of security by their constant presence at his place visiting the bar or the ladies. The two of them were hopelessly entwined in business affairs. They had to get along to survive.

Daniella held Miles's arm as they walked to the table. She was already quite unsteady, but the man who she called Uncle Luca was yelling to his bartender for drinks to be brought over. One. Just one more drink, and she would stick to water or soda for the rest of the night. She leaned her head against Miles's broad shoulder. He made a really nice pillow.

"Hey, Gallie! While you're at it, bring that bottle of Grand Cru Champagne from the private stock!" he barked at his new bartender, Galahad. "We have a reason to celebrate!"

Daniella was sure she had celebrated enough. She smiled at the bartender when he personally delivered the bottle of champagne in a silver bucket filled with ice along with the rest of their drinks.

Galahad was built like a brick wall and looked to be as solid and impenetrable as one too. At twenty one, he was huge and muscular like a man who had worked out for years for numerous hours a day. He was a Tag and a damned tough one. After unloading the tray, he returned to his place behind the bar.

"How long are you home for, Bitsy?" Luca inquired, popping the cork on the bottle of champagne. The sound was buried under the dull roar of multiple conversations and the steady heartbeat like thrum of the loud music.

"Just for a few months. I'll be returning to school to pursue my doctorate in psychology!" she yelled over the music.

"Psychology! Are you planning on trying to save the world one crazy person at a time? A good place to start would be right here at home you know," he told her, pouring the golden liquid into a tall crystal flute.

"Yeah, I know," she muttered under her breath, picking up the glass after he pushed it over to her.

Ergastulum was slap full of the morbidly depressed, the hopelessly addicted, and the generally mentally unstable suffering from a myriad of psychoses. Daniella would never lack for patients only money because most of them would not be able to pay for their treatment or their medication. Maybe her father could switch to trafficking medically necessary pharmaceuticals instead of illicit street drugs. Celebrer was the only legitimate drug he handled in his business. Her clinic would probably double as a money laundering facility processing the funds that would ultimately go to financing it in large part. As much as she liked the idea of helping people, she hated the idea of the constant threat of violence and the looming specter of death. She would just rather not stay in Ergastulum.

Miles put his arm around Daniella protectively. He wanted to take her home. She looked pale and exhausted despite having taken a nap. The alcohol had made her sleepy. He switched out her mixed drink that glowed in the dark with a fizzy cherry cola that had been brought to the table for one of the newbies. Pushing the alcoholic drink toward the lascivious blonde, he wanted him to drink it so the youth would pass out. Then he would not have to worry if the boy was keeping his hands to himself. He wished he had a bedroom upstairs to keep a closer eye on Daniella. Why did she need bodyguards anyway when there were already dozens of armed men in the house?

"Would you like to dance?" Miles asked Daniella as she sipped the soda through a straw.

"I thought you'd never ask," she mumbled, putting down the drink. Forgetting her manners and basic public decorum, she threw her leg over Nicolas's legs before sliding across his lap. She was not going to allow any obstacle to prevent her from getting out of the booth. The concept of allowing Nicolas to get up and move out of her way had never entered her pickled brain.

Dancing was one of her favorite things in the world. When she had been a stripper, she had done it for the joy of dance almost as much as for the money. She had put all those years of ballet lessons she had taken as a child to good use. Those lessons had enabled her to keep her balance as she moved about with stunning grace in stiletto heels while gyrating to music and swinging around a pole. When Miles took her into his arms on the dance floor, she wished she had worn stilettos instead of flat sandals.

Dancing was a bit awkward considering her partner was over a foot taller than her. Instead of placing her arm around his shoulder, she hooked it around his torso under his arm. Her other hand grasped his as he led her around the dance floor with measured, fluid steps. He was a good dancer. He was a very good man all around. She closed her eyes and lay her head against his chest. Her head nestled perfectly in the divide between his well developed pectorals just above his solar plexus. Usually she did not mind being so short, but at times like this it was damned inconvenient. She started to doze off on her feet because of the comforting swaying motion and the sense of security imparted by having Miles's strong arms around her. Even as a teenager she had taken refuge in his strong arms in times of emotional distress. He had always been so patient and kind to her, acting as her source of solace and protection many times.

"Can I have this dance?" Worick interrupted, tapping her on the shoulder.

Daniella followed the hand that had been thrust in between her and her current dance partner to the face of its owner. The one frosty blue eye focused on her face squinted with a smile. She didn't move, clinging to the man who presently held her.

"Bitsy? Is it okay? Do you want to dance with him?" Miles asked her before relinquishing her to the teenage boy.

"It's fine. I'll dance with him." She turned to Worick with her arms held stiffly at the same angles for him to walk into them and assume his position as her new dance partner.

"Thank you for allowing me the honor of being your dance partner, your highness," he said, moving her with ease across the floor.

"Oh, shut up," she snapped sassily.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he retorted, sliding his arm around her waist to pull her more firmly into him. "You act so high and mighty so I thought I should address you accordingly. You think you're so much better than everyone."

"I do not," she disagreed hotly.

"You do," he argued calmly, pressing his palm to the middle of her back to hold her close. He lowered his lips close to her ear to whisper, "You look down on all of us peons from your ivory tower thinking how unpleasant it is for us to breathe the same air you do."

Nothing could be further from the truth. Daniella liked Worick. She thought she might even be falling in love with him. The way he was speaking to her doused all of those warm, fuzzy emotions with a bucket of cold, harsh words. Maybe he was just a mean drunk and didn't mean any of it. She was tired and confused, her brain muddled by the alcohol. She closed her eyes, leaning into him. Her hand pulled away from his sliding up his arm to rest on the back of his neck.

"Stop it, Worick," she pleaded, a tear sliding from her eye.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Bitsy," he said, rubbing his cheek against hers. He had not meant to be so ruthlessly spiteful.

Worick envied her. Not for her wealth and grand lifestyle because he had been a rich kid too. His jealousy sprang from the fact that she had a father who loved her and wanted to be with her yet she was running away from him as fast and hard as she could. His own father had been a vicious, abusive asshole who had taken great joy in torturing him. The hole behind his eyelid where his eyeball had once been ached from the unwelcome memory of how inhumanely his tyrannical father had treated him. His father had burned his eye with a cigarette after catching him smoking despite being warned many times not to do so. How was he supposed to respect and follow the orders of a cruel man who obviously had no self-control of his own?

"Don't call me Bitsy," she mumbled like a grumpy child. Her lips brushed across the baby soft skin of his neck when she spoke.

"But I like it. It's cute. Like you."

"I'm cute?"

"Small things are always cute."

Her face reddened with anger. "Would you like it if I called you small?"

Daniella was quickly reminded that he was taller than her when he stood up straight. Her arms were suddenly extended upward as she tried to hang on to his neck. He lifted her slightly to pull her against him while thrusting his pelvis toward hers. Their bodies moved rhythmically to the music as he continued to lead her around the dance floor. She gasped when their hipbones rubbed against each other as he lowered her back down to the floor. Heat engulfed her from the inside out because he pressed his erection against her belly. It had been at least two years since she had been intimate with a man for business or pleasure. She had no idea she missed it until now.

"Being called small has never been a problem for me," Worick whispered. His tongue traced the outer rim of her ear making her shudder in his arms.

Daniella whimpered before taking control of her body's reaction to him by pushing aside the arousal. She had become damn tired of his salacious advances. She thrust her thigh with the gun strapped to it between his legs. His eye flew open with obvious surprise when the hardness of the metal pressed into his crotch. She smiled after his arms loosened around her.

"You seem able to protect yourself pretty well. I thought I was supposed to be your bodyguard." He inhaled sharply, clenching his teeth when she pushed the gun more firmly against the underside of his testicles.

"Do...not...screw...with...me, Worick," she warned him, her fingers clutching his sides. She could feel his ribs through his shirt.

"Can I, please? Just a little," he quipped, his hands moving up to her neck. "We'd have a lot of fun."

"I've already told you nothing like that will ever happen." She yelped when he unexpectedly pressed his lips to hers. His lips were soft and wet. He kissed her with a gentle pressure as if waiting for her to decide if she wanted to accept the kiss or push him away and slap him. She believed he was prepared to take whatever consequence his actions provoked and would enjoy the outcome either way. When she did not respond in any form, positive or negative, his mouth lifted from hers. She moved her leg from between his so that they would be able to continue dancing.

"What do you want from me, Daniella Monroe? Why did you pick me?" he asked, holding her hand and gripping her waist to lead her around the dance floor.

"I didn't just choose you remember? I wanted Nicolas too," she reminded him. Saying it like that made it sound like something dirty and that she did want sex.

"So it's him that you want instead of me. He's not really interested in that kind of relationship," he told her without trying to hide his enthusiasm that Nicolas would not give her what she wanted although he still had no idea what she really wanted.

"You're a good dancer. How did you learn?" she questioned him, summarily ignoring his comments.

"One of my repeat customers gets a kick out of giving me dance lessons while she's bare assed. Then she lays me down on the highly polished floor of her dance studio to fuck me senseless. She always takes the lead, in dancing and sex," he explained, giving her more information than she wanted to know. "Do you get your kicks by acting like an icy bitch and leading me on? Or maybe you thought you were going to save me from my pathetic life on the street. Is that what you were thinking? You were supposed to be my knight in shining armor, and I was the damsel in distress."

"I only wanted to offer you a legitimate job. I haven't led you on. I am certainly no knight in shining armor. If anything, I'm the damsel in distress, and I am aware of that. I never wanted to save you from anything including yourself," she said, raising her eyes to look into his. There were tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. His words had stung. "I don't want to hurt you or Nicolas. I just want friends. People to be near me. I suppose it was purely selfish after all"

"Ah, Princess. Poor little rich girl...so lonely in her ivory tower," he murmured, pushing the stray lock of hair covering one of her eyes behind her ear.

If he was being condescending or just plain mean, she did not know nor did she care.

"I am lonely," she agreed, shocking him into silence by agreeing with him. She lay her head against his chest, enclosing his slim waist with her arms. "Just shut up and put your arms around me. Dance with me. You don't have to bombard me with not so subtle hints for me to go to bed with you."

"Does that mean you will have sex with me?"

"No. I didn't say that quite right. What I mean is I won't screw you no matter how many times you ask."

"Can you say the f-word in reference to sex?"

"Fuck you."

"Close enough." He held her, using an uncomplicated two step to maneuver her around the floor. She had become too compliant for his taste. She was acting in direct contrast with her usual charming personality of venom and snappy comebacks. He did not like it, and it made him feel exceedingly uncomfortable.

Worick could not figure her out at all. She was like every woman he had ever met. Not that he had expected her to be different or unique in any way. Women were complex, confusing, and had no idea what the hell they wanted out of life or the men around them. Surely her philosophy on relationships could not be so simple. Friendship would be too easy and straightforward. No messy emotions or drama. Hell even his customers became emotionally entangled with him no matter how much he tried to prevent it. He had never experienced genuine emotion for a female. All of the women in his life that were supposed to love him the most had been absent or emotionally unattainable. He never knew his mother who was a prostitute his father kept on the side despite being married. His stepmother hated him even more than his father hated him.

"Worick? Are you all right?" Daniella asked when he made a sound that was distinctly like a stifled sob. She held his face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. There were tears forming in the corner of his bloodshot eye.

"I'm fine," he insisted, pulling her hands away from his face. "Would you like to go home? You're really sleepy. I will put you to bed."

"Just to sleep?" she yawned, leaning heavily against him.

"Just to sleep," he promised, holding her securely against him with one arm. He signaled to Nicolas to come over. When his friend held out his arms as if anticipating Worick's motive for beckoning him, he pushed Daniella backward into them.

Nicolas was amazingly strong despite being short and skinny. He could take down men twice his size and three times his weight. He lifted Daniella in a bridal carry to walk out of the bar with her while Worick went to Miles Mayer to ask for the keys to one of the vehicles.

"We're taking Daniella home. I need the keys," Worick explained in response to the questioning gaze on the second in command's face.

"I'll take her home. You two stay here," Miles insisted, sliding to the edge of the seat.

"You stay, Miles," Daniel Monroe ordered the man. "Let the boys take her home. That's why she hired them after all."

"But sir - "

"Let the kid do his job. She'll be fine. Besides, I taught her how to shoot, and I'm sure she's armed. Relax, Miles. If I'm not worried, you shouldn't be either."

"Yes, sir." Miles reached into his pocket to retrieve the keys. He dropped them into the open palm of the boy standing in front of him. "If you touch her, I'll - "

"I won't," Worick assured him. "And she is armed. She's threatened me with her gun twice now. I'm beginning to think she seriously intends to shoot me."

"If she won't, I will. Here's the code, kid." He rattled off the four numbers that would allow him to open the gate.

Meanwhile, Nicolas was patiently waiting by the car, effortlessly holding the half asleep woman in his arms.

"You're quiet and sweet, Nicky," Daniella mumbled, forgetting he could not hear her voice. She slid her arms around his neck, resting her head in the hollow formed by his neck sloping down into his shoulder. "I like you. I like Worick too. But he talks too damn much. He's going to talk me right out of liking him soon."

"I got the keys!" Worick yelled. The keys could be heard jingling as he ran down the sidewalk toward them. "You didn't have your way with the Princess while you were waiting on me did you Nic?"

"See what I mean," she muttered to herself. "I don't feel so good."

"All right, Princess, hold on to what ya got. Me and my old buddy Nic here will have you home soon." Worick opened the car door, supervising as Nicolas bent down inside the car to carefully lay her across the back seat of the luxury sedan. He grabbed the back of Nicolas's jacket when Daniella seized him by the neck to pull him down on top of her. After a brief tug-of-war with the hapless drunk over his friend, he pulled Nicolas free from her unbelievably strong arms. Glancing at his friend's face, seeing the lopsided grin, he snorted in disbelief. "You enjoyed that didn't you?"

Nicolas shrugged as if he had no idea what Worick was talking about.

"Fine," he muttered, shoving him into the back seat. "You can babysit her on the way home. If she barfs, she's going to do it on you."

Nicolas waved his arms when Worick slammed the door closed. His eyes were wide and horror stricken. He had read every word that passed the blonde's lips. After catching Worick's eye in the rear view mirror, he gestured to him that he was an asshole and should go fuck himself. His friend responded to the insult by laughing. That was typical. He rolled his eyes in irritation.

Daniella eased in and out of consciousness. Her lips were numb, and her eyelids were heavy. Each time her eyes closed, she fell asleep for a few seconds before shaking herself awake. She wanted to stay awake to make sure Casanova there got her home safely and to bed - alone. As much as she would like to have him join her, to have him make her moan his name, she would not allow herself to fall into that kind of temptation or heartbreak. Males like Worick spelled certain doom for her. She was highly attracted to younger men, the flirtier and more overtly sexual they were, the better. His type appealed to her, and she always fell hard into something past love that bordered on obsession with men like him. She did not like feeling out of control, of being carried along on a river of emotion that she could not contain. Eventually she always got sucked under to be drowned by those emotions.

Daniella forced herself to a sitting position, leaning against the door. She pressed her feverish forehead that was slick with sweat to the cool glass of the window. The glass was double paned with a half inch thick piece of bulletproof Plexiglas between. It was grand being a mafioso's daughter and not knowing when the bullets were going to fly. Men, and sometimes women, fought and killed each other all the time - and the reason did not matter. _Poor little rich girl._ The truth about being rich and infamous in Ergastulum was that it was like wearing a target on one's back. She could not stay here long. She needed to get back to the other world, her other life. To be sitting through boring classes, to go to her horrible part time waitress job, to be in her house with her five friends were all of the places she wanted to be rather than here.

A gentle tapping on her shoulder brought her attention to the boy sitting next to her. His dark eyes studied her face before he tried to communicate with her. He wanted to ask her something, but she could not understand sign language. Daniella made a mental note to go shopping. She needed to buy books on sign language. Next semester she would sign up for a sign language class. She could see the frustration building in his eyes as he tried to make her understand. The only thing that rivaled his aggravation was her own.

Nicolas finally made a few gestures that she understood, that were universal in communicating certain ideas. She gasped and nodded enthusiastically. He was asking if she was feeling okay. She had been until nodding her head too vigorously. Everything wavered and swam in front of her eyes. Nausea swept over her, making her feel hot and cold all at once like microwaved leftovers.

"Have you blown chunks yet, Princess?" Worick asked over his shoulder as he was typing in the code Miles had given him.

"Not yet. But it might not be much longer," she warned him, hugging her belly as if that would keep it from flip flopping inside of her body.

"Shit," he muttered, willing the gate to open faster. He was sure that if she did puke in the car he would be responsible for cleaning it up since he was officially on the Monroe Family payroll and assigned to her specifically. When taking the job from the pretty woman it had never occurred to him that he would be responsible for her and _all_ of her bullshit. All in all, she was not so bad. He considered giving her a break, letting up on her a bit with the verbal abuse. Being vindictive made him the same kind of hateful asshole his father had been.

As soon as the car stopped at the back door, Nicolas had already placed his arm around her shoulders to pull her across the seat. He sat her in his lap to slip his other arm under her knees. When Worick opened the car door, Nicolas slid out while hoisting her into his arms in one fluid movement. Worick ran ahead of him, unlocking and opening doors to create a path for him. Once they were in her room, Nicolas carefully lay her down on the bed.

 _Who will stay with her? Me or you?,_ Nicolas signed.

"You," Worick answered without hesitation. "But first I'll help you get her ready for bed."

Worick removed Daniella's shoes, tossing them across the room toward her closet. His hands slid under her skirt but Nicolas seized his arm, squeezing his bicep until it pinched in a silent warning for him not to do that. Jerking his arm free of his friend's grip, he pushed up her skirt to show him the gun strapped to her thigh.

"If I don't take that off of her, it will hurt her. The damn fool might even accidentally shoot herself in her sleep by somehow squeezing the trigger," he told Nicolas. He snatched at the Velcro closures, noisily releasing them to take the weapon off of her leg. After setting it on the nightstand, he walked to the door to leave the room. "Good night, Nicolas. I'll keep watch over her tomorrow night. It's been a long day, and I really need some sleep."

Nicolas propped his sword against the side of the bed. Taking off his jacket, he carefully folded it and draped it across the chair sitting in the corner. He picked up the fuzzy pink blanket that was haphazardly folded and lying on the seat of the ornate, delicate chair. After covering her sleeping form with the blanket, he sat down on the floor and leaned back against her bed. Being on the floor would not be so bad. The thick white carpet would definitely be more comfortable than the concrete he was accustomed to sleeping on.

Nicolas felt the bed move behind his head. He lazily pivoted his neck without picking his head up from where it was lying back on the mattress to look at her. He was tired too. His half closed eyes roamed over her face. She was very close to him, almost touching him. She had turned over onto her side, curling into a fetal position so compact she nearly wrapped around his head. Her hand was positioned in front of her face in a way that made it appear she was sucking her thumb. Her cheeks were blushed a deep pink. She looked like an innocent little girl who needed a protector.

Until he met Worick, the only time he had protected someone was when he had been ordered to do so. Worick had become his friend. The first one he had ever had. Worick save him first by buying him from his uncaring and cruel mercenary father who had worked for the Arcangelo family. To repay the favor, he had protected Worick by killing his abusive father along with the rest of the family who treated him unkindly. They had freed each other from being prisoners of their horrible fathers.

This person said she had wanted to be his friend too. He was still learning exactly what it meant to not only have a friend but to be one as well. Tentatively, he reached out to touch her. His pulsed raced as his fingertips drifted across her cheek. Her skin was so silky, so smooth. She was the softest thing he had ever touched. Staring at her pretty face swathed with the brown sugar colored hair that had dislodged itself from her bun, something unusual stirred within his chest. Holding her in his arms earlier had been quite pleasant, but he did not like the way it made his heart beat faster like it was doing at this moment. He wanted to be near her, to stay close to her. Dropping his hand to grab his sword, he lay it across his lap so it would be within his reach while he slept. If anyone made it through the substantial multi-layered security to get into her room, he would have to be ready fight a formidable foe. He was capable, and more than willing, to take on anyone who tried to hurt Daniella.


	5. Chapter 5

Daniella awoke alone. She had halfway expected to have an unwelcome blond guest in her bed. Sighing with relief, she pushed herself off of the mattress. She would have sworn Nicolas had been sitting beside her bed last night. However, that might have been an alcohol induced hallucination. Her head throbbed only slightly less painfully than if someone was drilling a jackhammer into her skull. After her shower she would go downstairs to drink several glasses of water and eat something which should rid her of the headache. Too many fermented grapes had temporarily pickled her brain.

Once she was showered and dressed in denim capris and a strappy fuchsia colored tank top, Daniella headed for the kitchen. There she found Miles standing around talking with a few of the other men while drinking coffee. The men nodded to her in acknowledgement and left the room after receiving an almost imperceptible nod of dismissal from Miles.

"So where's your bodyguards? Shouldn't they be guarding your body?" he inquired, giving her a lengthy, intense once over from the top of her wet head to the painted red toenails of her bare feet.

"They probably should. Especially with the way you're looking at me right now, Mr. Mayer. If I didn't know you better, I'd think that was a mighty perverted look in your eye. I would be frightened," she rejoined in a toneless voice. She turned her back to him as a smile curled her lips while he choked on his coffee before spitting it out to stain the front of his crisply ironed white shirt. The rush of running water filling her glass covered her soft chuckle of amusement as he huffed and puffed, coughing to eject the coffee he had inhaled into his lungs. She snatched the dishtowel from the hook attached to the counter beside the sink to throw it at him to wipe his shirt. "You deserved that."

"You're mean as hell, you know that?" he questioned her, swiping angrily at his shirt.

"You've told me that before. Very recently."

"Dammit! Now I need to go change my shirt."

"Do _you_ know where my boys are?" she inquired directly, staring at him over the rim of her glass as she chugged the water. She wanted coffee, not plain water. However she needed the water. After another glass of plain water, she would pour herself a cup of coffee if the men left any behind after their coffee break.

"You're father took them to the firing range,"he answered offhandedly, loosening his tie. His head jerked toward her in astonishment when he heard glass breaking. He saw her running out of the back door. "Oh, no."

Miles had forgotten that was where her father taken Romeo the night he had shot him. Daniella had gotten up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. He had been standing at the kitchen window gazing out toward the building that housed the firing range to make sure no one walked inside. Without thinking, he had told her just as forthrightly then where the man she was looking for had been. That night she had panicked and ran out of the door the same way. As he ran after her, he was certain that night was playing over again in her head since things had happened in almost the same exact way. The only thing different was that Worick and Nicolas were in no danger. Her father had taken them out there so he could teach Worick to shoot while one of his swordsmen sparred with Nicolas.

"Daniella, wait! It's not what you think!" he yelled as he ran after her. Blind panic and adrenaline had given the short little woman a speed boost that made it impossible for him to catch her despite his long strides and being in top physical shape.

Daniella could not hear him. Fear had thrown her body into full fight mode, driving her toward the large, sprawling building with more speed than she was actually capable of under normal circumstances. Her others senses had dulled to send all stimulus to her feet and legs to get her where she thought she needed to be to prevent more senseless death. Rational thought had fled her capacities at the moment as well. If she had been able to reason, she would have remembered that her father had valid reasons for shooting Romeo. He had not done it out of sport or spite. He had executed the traitorous employee to prove a point; to make a statement to the other members of his organization that he was the boss and he would act accordingly to rid himself of any threat against those he loved and his business. She flung open the metal door so powerfully that it banged loudly against the metal wall behind it. The walls of the structure vibrated violently further announcing her arrival. Whether she wanted it or not, she had the attention of every man in the building riveted on her. Even the men in the firing range behind the soundproof, bulletproof glass wearing ear plugs turned to see what was going on.

"Itsy Bitsy, what the hell is wrong with you?" her father was asking her before he was completely through the door from the shooting area.

Daniella bent over, placing her hands on her knees to hold herself up. She felt like she would surely faint and vomit, not sure which one would happen first. Her chest heaved and her back arched each time she panted to draw air into her starved lungs that burned inside her chest. The muscles in her legs spasmed as the adrenaline began to subside from her system.

Worick lurched forward when he saw her eyes roll back to reveal the white sclera only and her knees buckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Nic moving at the same time. Although Nicolas was further away, he was faster, more agile, and would reach her first. At least one of them would get there to keep her from taking a dive straight onto the concrete floor and getting a concussion. His steps slowed to a casual stroll as he watched Nicolas sink to his knees using the momentum of running to glide across the smooth cement floor so he would be under her when she crashed to the floor.

Nicolas grunted when Daniella fell on top of him making him thankful that she was small and probably weighed no more than a hundred pounds. However, dead weight always seemed heavier. Plus she had dangerously bony elbows. Although receiving one of her elbows to the ribs was painful, it was not as painful as it could have been since he did not receive her other elbow to his crotch. Her body had landed cross ways on top of him, laying perpendicular to him so that their bodies made a t shape. Her head and her butt and everything in between had been spared from injury. Since her legs had slowly folded downward before her upper body flopped backwards, they were fine. He stared at the steel beams of the open ceiling above him panting. His already narrow eyes squinted when his best friend's smugly smiling face came into view above him.

"Good job, Nicolas. You saved the Princess. You're her knight in shining armor," Worick remarked with a wry grin.

 _Asshole,_ he thought, closing his eyes. If he could not _see_ Worick, he could not _hear_ him. The ties of friendship that bound them together were strong and would likely not ever be broken by any smart ass comment Worick could make. Yet sometimes his best friend seemed to put that theory to the test.

"Oh," Daniella groaned as she began to regain consciousness. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Worick answered, hovering over her as he waited for her to open her eyes. He smiled broadly at her when she blinked and focused her gray blue eyes on him.

"Where am I?" she inquired, reaching out to take the hand extended to her. She struggled to gather strength into her inexplicably rubbery legs to assist with pushing her body to a vertical position.

"On top of Nic," he replied.

"What?!"

"Whoa!" he yelled when he had to immediately reach out to grasp her by the arms to keep her from falling back down on his friend and squashing him like a bug. Afraid he might lose his balance and go over too, he snatched her forward, pulling her into his chest. "You sure know how to overreact, don't you?"

"Asshole," she muttered, shoving him away.

"Yeah, I've been called that before," he returned, staring at her backside as she bent down to help up Nicolas.

"I bet," she grumbled before giving her full attention to Nicolas. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

"It's okay," Nicolas spoke in slow, halting words as he stood to his feet.

Daniella smiled at him. She had believed all along that he could speak, although he had not done so in her presence. "You _can_ talk."

"When I want to, yes," he responded in painstakingly enunciated words that were still barely understandable.

"Great! You can talk to me some more. We're going shopping," she announced, grabbing him by the arm while pulling him toward the door. Sufficiently embarrassed by her lack of composure and momentary show of weakness, she decided to act like the incident never happened and to move on with her day.

"Hey! What about me?" Worick hollered after them.

"Oh, no. Not you," Daniel Monroe said, clamping his hand down onto Worick's narrow shoulder. "You're staying here with me. We have some things to discuss. You also need more practice with that gun to be able to protect my little girl. You said it yourself that he was Itsy Bitsy's knight in shining armor. We need to polish up your suit a bit, kid."

"But I - "

"You're going to learn how to shoot a gun. One of these days you will be able to shoot a flea off of a dog's back from half a mile away."

"Are you being serious?" Worick asked with evident suspicion.

Daniel Monroe smiled. It was the same wide creeping grin that came across his daughter's face that made them look as if they knew a tantalizing secret they had no intention of sharing. "Guess you're going to find out, aren't you?"

"Shit."

~...~

Daniella was thrilled to find the bookstore she spent hours in as a teenager was still open for business. Located near the border of Ergastulum, the narrow, three story tall red brick building was crammed into a row of similar structures. There was a diner, a dress shop, a dry cleaners, and a laundromat included among the businesses. Across the street, there was a bar, a tobacco shop, a liquor store, a pawn shop, and a black magic shop. Only in Ergastulum could such diverse shops coexist on the same street.

The bookstore sold new and used books. The store also carried videos, cds, notebooks, stationery, pens, and pretty much all things associated with reading, writing, and learning in general. The inside of the store was surprisingly neat, clean, and well lit. The newest and most expensive books were piled high on tables in symmetrical stacks at the front of the store. Toward the back, used books were arranged on shelves by genre then alphabetically.

Nicolas patiently followed Daniella around the store allowing her to stack up book after book into his arms. Before coming into the bookstore he had strapped his sword to his side at her insistence. Her stubbornness about it suddenly made sense when she began to hand items to him. She was buying everything about sign language: books, videos, posters, and cd's, and every learning tool she could get her hands on. She also grabbed books and tapes about speech pathology, reading lips, and enunciation.

Daniella had to keep reminding herself when speaking to him to look straight at him, catching his eye first to make sure he was looking at her. There was something extremely intimate about staring into his dark, bottomless eyes then having him slowly break eye contact as his gaze drifted downward to her lips. Although it was strictly necessary, seeing his eyes focused on her lips like a lover before stealing a kiss, made her pulse race and her belly flutter. Sometimes she would have to gently touch his arm to get his attention because he was reading the titles from the spines of books or looking around the store at the few other customers browsing the store. She liked the way the muscles of his upper arms flexed under his soft skin against her fingertips. Despite her many attempts to engage him in actual conversation, he kept his answers to nods or shakes of the head mixed with the occasional noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. She received the shoulder shrug most often when she persisted in her endeavors to elicit a verbal answer out of him after asking an open ended question that needed more than a one gesture reply.

"Are you hungry? Want to get something to eat after this?" she asked as they walked up to the cash register.

Nicolas nodded slowly.

"Does your head hurt from moving it so much?" she inquired, receiving a bored glower in return. She could not tell if he was simply long suffering or immune to snarky comments. Considering that his best friend spoke fluent sarcasm and mostly used snappy one liners when communicating, she would bet money on the latter. She giggled, moving to the side so he could set all of the items on the counter to be rang up.

The female clerk appeared to be barely twelve years old. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her golden brown eyes had not lost their youthful shine. There was no make up on her face. So far she had been spared from the horrible fate of becoming a working girl either on the streets or in a brothel.

Daniella smiled at the girl who easily and sincerely smiled back. The corners of her mouth took a sudden downturn. She glanced at the young man standing beside her who had turned his back to her. His hand was resting on the handle of his katana, his fingers curled loosely around the ornate black braiding on the handle. He was suddenly on guard. His stiff stance made her apprehensive. He appeared to be ready to attack as if he sensed a threat she could not see.

"Ma'am?" the cashier called politely to get her attention.

 _Ma'am! I'm not that old dammit!_ Daniella reached into her purse for her wallet. "Sorry. How much did you say?"

"Your total is two hundred forty sixty two dollars and fifty three cents," the girl repeated without losing her smile.

Daniella counted out the bills before pulling them out of her purse. Her father had always taught her never to flash cash around unnecessarily and bring attention to herself. Considering the way he spent money on expensive items such as his mansion and cars, the lesson had been lost on her for many years. After seeing several thugs throwing around wads of cash then getting rolled by call girls or beat to death by fellow hoodlums, she understood her father's point.

"Thank you," she cashier said, handing her the change and her bag.

Daniella was looking down into her purse to place the bills inside her wallet and reaching for the bag with the other. Her fingers flexed in expectation of taking of the paper twine handles of the bag. It startled her when instead they contacted another hand, grazing the smooth skin across the backside. She withdrew her hand, warmth creeping up her neck to her face.

"I'll talk it," Nicolas told her out loud. "It's heavy."

"Th-thank y-you," she stuttered. Having him talk to her made her feel as if she had accomplished an impressive feat.

The inviting aroma of grilled meat tickled their noses as soon as they stepped out onto the street. The diner was just one door down from the bookstore. It was close and they were famished so that seemed like the best place to eat. Since it was the middle of the afternoon, there were not many people inside.

The place was like a 50s diner that had been transported into the future. There was lots of chrome on bar stools and seats along with red Formica surfaces on the long lunch counter and the tabletops of the booths lining the walls. The floor was a spotless, gleaming white and black checkerboard pattern. The lone waitress wore an old-fashioned diner uniform in a sunny yellow color complete with a pristine white apron. An old man sat at the counter with a piece of apple pie and empty coffee cup which he swiftly brought to the waitresses attention. A harried mother and her angry teen daughter who seemed to have been arguing sat in silence glaring at their plates of untouched food. There was a couple sharing a milkshake with two straws like a romantic picture straight out of a book.

Daniella slid into the booth at the opposite end of the building away from the other patrons. She grabbed two of the menus held in a stiff plastic sheaths pushing one over to Nicolas who slid into the seat across from her. The air inside the diner was heavily scented of grease and fried beef which made her crave a hamburger and fries. She reached across the table, touching Nic's hand that held the menu in front of his face.

"Tell me what you want and I will order it," she offered. If he didn't want to talk to her, she doubted he would want to speak to the waitress.

Nicolas lay the menu down on the table, pointing to his choices. He wanted the same thing she planned on ordering. That certainly made things easy. She did not bother asking him how he wanted his burger. If this place was like most diners, everything would be on the side and would be a build your own prospect. When she asked him about a drink, he shrugged. She wanted to slap him.

"Hi, sweetie, whaddya have?" the young woman straight from another time and dimension entirely asked with the tired indifference of a seasoned professional.

"Two burgers, two fries, and two cherry colas," she requested, slipping the menus back into the makeshift holder consisting of the salt and pepper shakers and the appropriately colored squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard.

Daniella loved this place. It reminded her of one the themed restaurants near the university that being a kitschy, stereotypical throwback from the 50s era was the whole selling point of the diner. They even encouraged their waitresses to be sassy, bordering on rude, while chewing gum and smacking it with abandon. She wanted to come back here again because it reminded her of that place. But these people were the real deal. She had forgotten there were good things about home. Things she would miss when she left.

A disturbing trend was beginning to become evident to her. She was finding more reasons to stay than to leave. Glancing across the table at her dining companion, she feared she might have found one too many reasons. Before she could wallow too much in self-doubt, the cherry colas arrived in tall fountain glasses. She squealed and clapped her hands like an excited child to see that maraschino cherries filled the bottom of the glass. Oh, yeah. The real deal. Leaving the glass sitting on the table, she leaned forward to nab the straw with her teeth before enclosing it with her lips to take a sip. The cold, sweet drink flowed over her taste buds giving her sense of satisfaction. The simple things made life fabulous. She watched Nicolas as he warily eyeballed the slightly reddish tinted brown liquid in his glass. She continued to sip her drink while he poked at the cherries in the bottom with his straw.

"Nicky," she called, reaching out to touch his hand. When his eyes moved to her face, she said, "Drink it. It's good. It's my favorite."

Nicolas pushed the straw aside to take a sip straight from the glass. His eyes widened. Daniella was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She waited for him to react in a way that would give her a hint to whether he liked it or not. He pulled the glass back from his mouth and stared at the contents with uncertainty. After giving a shrug, he brought the glass back to his mouth for another sip. She rolled her eyes and chewed on her straw. Apparently that was his way of saying he liked it.

"Here ya go!" the waitress exclaimed, heralding the arrival of their food. She set their plates down on the table in front of them with a flourish. "Anything else, sweetie?"

Nicolas raised his empty glass while pointing to Daniella's half empty glass.

"Sure thing, kiddo," she replied, snapping her gum.

Daniella smiled at his willingness to interact with another person. He was usually so disengaged, so unwilling to acknowledge those around him much less try to communicate with them. They assembled their hamburgers to their liking then proceeded to stuff their faces. Daniella applied all toppings except for onions resulting in a deliciously sloppy mess that coated her fingers and ran down her chin. She was glad there was a napkin dispenser on the table.

"What?" she mumbled around a mouthful of food when she noticed Nicolas staring at her. He appeared to be in horrified awe as he watched her eat. Using his forefinger he pushed up the tip of his nose to communicate in no uncertain terms that he thought she was being a pig. She almost choked on her mouthful of food when she started laughing.

When they were finally finished eating, Daniella left a hefty tip on the table along with the payment. She also wrote on a napkin an order to pick up in about an hour after they shopped a bit longer. Worick would be hungry, and she doubted her father would allow him the time to take a lunch break. Her father could be seriously intense when giving gun training. She had been his pupil once. It had been the most awful, grueling thing she had ever endured. There were a few stores she wanted to check out before going home though.

A block away from the bookstore, there was a nice boutique that sold extravagant, high end men and women's clothing. The clothes were made of the finest Chinese silk, Egyptian cotton, and Turkish linen; exotic materials and styles from all over the world. She picked out a few summer dresses for herself and chose silk shirts and linen pants for Worick and Nicolas. Her companion did not seem too excited and not the least bit interested in the clothing but she bought them anyway.

Nicolas's reaction to the women's intimates in the dress shop had been entertaining. The plain silky underthings had been regarded with cool disinterest. The bras and panties covered in lace or decorated with rows of fluffy ruffles had warranted a dubious glance. When he came to the leather and metal studded underwear featuring bustiers and garter belts, his curiosity had been piqued. There were riding crops, gags equipped with rubber balls, and black leather blindfolds displayed prominently on top of the racks of the more risque nightwear. Apparently the thought of weaponizing sexuality made it of some degree of interest to him but from a strictly inquisitive perspective. After choosing a nightgown, she swiftly left the store, pulling him away from the leather binding equipment. He was being way too curious.

One last stop at the tobacco store for cigars for her father and cigarettes for Worick finished off their shopping trip. Once Daniella picked up the order from the diner, they made their way home. The day had been a very good day but a tiring one. Catching a glimpse of Nicolas out of the corner of her eye, she would swear she saw a faint smile on his lips as he stared straight ahead.

When parking at the back of the house, Daniella could see Worick sitting in a lounge chair by the pool. Thin rivulets of white smoke swirled above his head from the cigarette he was smoking. He had unbuttoned his shirt to bare his chest so the evening breeze could cool his skin. Daniella wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a typical sweltering summer night. Her eyes shifted to Nicolas when he tapped her shoulder. Using simple gestures, he got it across to her that he would take the bags upstairs to her room if she wanted to take Worick his food.

Daniella nodded in agreement. Picking up the canned soda, she held it in one hand and clenched the folded top of the greasy paper bag in her other. She slowly made her way across the yard toward Worick. His eye was closed. He looked exhausted. His right hand tremored as he brought the cigarette to his lips for another puff. She remembered the uncontrollable shakes caused by having to repeatedly squeeze the trigger, of being subjected to the constant recoil of the weapon.

"The trembling will subside by tomorrow morning. Your shoulders will ache like a bitch though. You should ice that hand down so your joints won't hurt quite so much," she suggested, sitting on the lounge chair beside his.

"Thanks for the tip," he muttered around his cigarette. "About time you two got home."

"Jealous much?" she taunted, smirking at him when he opened his one eye.

"Pfft," he blew out derisively. "Hell, no."

"Here," she said, shoving the bag and drink at him. "I'm sure you're hungry."

"Thanks," he returned, taking the bag and can from her.

"Are you all right?" she questioned him, staring at him suspiciously. There had been no snappy retort, no sexual innuendo. What was wrong with him?

"I'm fine. Why?" He peeled away the white waxed paper wrapping from the burger and took a big bite, demolishing a quarter of the huge half pound burger with all of the trimmings.

Daniella shrugged. "No reason. I'm going inside. You coming?"

"I would rather stay out here for a while." He peered into the bag at the french fries before reaching inside for them.

It was as if he was purposely ignoring her. Daniella immediately began to wonder what her father could have possibly discussed with him today. Perhaps he was just tired. There was no telling what kind of paces her father had put him through during training today. Her father had been a relentless task master with her when he taught her how to shoot. Not only did he make her aim and fire the weapon until her arms were sore all the way up and through her shoulders, but he had made her go through a whole fitness program including sit ups, push ups, and five mile runs. But he had turned her into a crack shot who could run after or run away from an enemy - at least until she could get a clear shot.

"Oh, okay," she murmured, turning to walk away.

Daniella took a shower and dressed in the nightgown she had just purchased. It was a short, dark purple baby doll style that was cinched under her breasts and held across her shoulders by tiny straps. She opened the windows to allow the breeze inside. The air was warm but it dispelled the stuffiness of her room.

Nicolas had lined the bags neatly along one wall of her room. She liked his sense of organization. Daniella sat down on the floor to begin unloading the bag from the bookstore. She opened a book about sign language and started to read. Halfway through the history of how sign language was invented, there was a knock on the door. Grumbling like a grumpy old woman, she rolled up onto her knees before standing to answer the door.

"I bring an offering, your highness," Worick proclaimed, holding out the green glass bottle of water.

"Thank you," she said, taking it from him. She pressed it to her forehead to cool off her face that felt a little bit warm.

"What? No snarky comeback?" He suddenly pressed the can of beer he held in his hand against her chest.

"If that didn't feel so good I'd slap you." She closed her eyes and sighed. The coolness of the chilled metal can was positively delightful on her hot skin.

"I've never heard that before." He pushed her backwards gently so he could slip into her room and close the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, opening her eyes to glare fiercely at him.

"It's my turn to take care of you tonight. Unless you prefer Nic," he said, raising one eyebrow inquisitively with a mischievous grin on his face. "But he's already asleep. You kept him up way past his bedtime last night. Most often goes to bed early and wakes up before dawn. I swear, he has the habits of a seventy year old man. He takes aimless strolls, watches birds...those kinds of things."

"What's wrong with that?" She backed away from him to return to her place on the floor among her books.

"What's this?"

"Books."

Worick smiled when he finally received the sort of smart alack reply he expected from her. He sat down cross legged on the floor with her, picking up a book titled _Using the Tongue Effectively._ "This sounds interesting."

"It's not what you think," she snorted. He would be so disappointed if he knew it was all about how the tongue moves in conjuncture with the teeth and lips to create spoken words. She watched as he quickly put the book down and picked up another that was full of pictures of sign language gestures.

"Oh, this is just like the book I have. My copy was burned when..."

Daniella lowered her book, studying him over the top. He looked sad, remorseful, as he examined the book in his hands. Her eyes followed his fingers as he stroked the page, tracing the fingers of the hand in the picture.

"It was the book Nic and I used to learn sign language together," he murmured, closing the book to hold it in both of his hands. That book was the one thing he and Nicolas took with them the day they walked away from that house where his family lay dead inside.

Daniella kept quiet, finding herself unable to speak as he leveled his single cold blue on her face. She suddenly felt self-conscious and incredibly nervous under his malevolent scrutiny. His face was hard, expressionless, like a mask made of stone to hide his emotions. It appeared as if a ghost of his past had come back to haunt him.

"I could hate you so easily," he confessed. He waited for her to react, to say something - anything - but she stayed silent. "But I can't. I won't."

Daniella swallowed. The noise sounded so loud as it cut through the electrified air thick with tension. Her insides were quivering. Sweat rolled down her back between her shoulder blades making her shiver from the ticklish sensation.

"Why? Why would you hate me?" she asked, sitting stock still as if a slight movement might provoke him to attack her.

"Because you have everything. And I don't mean this big house and fancy cars or getting anything your little heart desires," he said, setting the book down on top of the stack beside him. "You have a father who loves you. Who would do anything for you. Hell, he even killed for you."

"He - " She paused to gulp when her airway instantly constricted. "He told you about that?"

"He was protecting you. I want to know why...Why do you insist on running away from him?" he inquired, sitting up on all fours to crawl toward her. "Why do you want to be anywhere else? You have everything you could ever want here. Why would you just leave it all behind?"

Daniella held her breath, leaning back as he moved over her. Her eyes maintained his severe glare that darted back and forth, drilling into one eye then the other. Her body trembled while he hovered over her on all fours, his lips looming close to hers. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came.

"There's so much for you here. Don't leave," he implored her, touching her cheek with his fingertips.

Daniella gasped when his calloused fingertips slid across her delicate facial skin with a stimulating friction. Her eyelids dropped to shield her eyes from his gaze that had softened into an inviting stare. A thousand butterflies took flight in her belly, beating their wings against her insides until she thought she might float away. She needed to distract him - and herself.

"How did the book get burned?" she questioned him, returning to an earlier topic of conversation.

"What?" he queried, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"You said your book like that got burned. How did it happen?"

"Nic dropped it when my house was attacked. That idiot went back to get it and almost got himself blown up."

"Oh." She inhaled a slow, quavering breath. Opening her eyes, she focused on his single stunning frigid blue iris. "Why do want to hate me?"

"I told you...I don't - " His words halted as quickly as they began. He pressed his palm to her cheek, forming his fingers to the contours of her face. "You have everything I ever wanted. Your father has never laid a hand on you in anger. He has never treated you cruelly. He has never called you names, or berated you or - "

"I'm sorry," she apologized, not knowing what else to say. She could see the tears forming over the surface of his eye making it shine.

"Do you love him?" Worick asked, his eye shifting back and forth between hers again. He seemed to be searching for the answer - a truthful answer.

"Of course I love my father," Daniella scoffed, lowering her eyes to hide them from his. She stared at his mouth. His lips were slightly parted. His bottom lip was much fuller than the top and a sweet pink color like cotton candy. They looked soft. Kissable. God. She closed her eyes completely.

"I'm not talking about him," he snapped in an unnecessarily harsh manner.

"I know," she admitted, disinclined to met his gaze that she could feel latched firmly to her face. "It's unfair of you to ask. The answer is no."

"Bullshit," he growled, forcing her to look at him by using his forefinger to push up her chin. "Tell me the truth. Are you in love with Nicolas?"

"I don't know. How could I be? It takes time to fall in love. Time we haven't had yet."

"Please don't make pathetic excuses. It doesn't suit you."

"I don't know," she repeated through clenched teeth. She really didn't. She had no idea if she could already be falling in love with Nicolas - or Worick. How could she be falling in love with two men at once? It just could not happen. She could not allow it to happen.

"You must choose. You can't have us both. It can't be like that. I promise you this, if you hurt him, if you break Nic's heart," he cautioned her in an exceedingly threatening tone. He pressed his hand to her chest over her heart. His fingers curled, pressing into her skin as if he was going to reach through her chest to rip out her heart. "I'll break yours."

"What if I break your heart?" she dared to ask, chewing the inside of her mouth anxiously. Her eyes stubbornly locked with his, refusing to look away. If she looked away, that would be submission, admitting defeat.

"I won't let you," he rejoined with an arrogant smirk.

"How can you - " Her words were cut off by his lips pressing to hers. She screeched in surprise, the sound being muffled into a squawk between their mouths. She was sick and damn tired of him stealing kisses from her that were not his to take. As much as she had wanted to kiss him before, his boldness of just taking it after saying such terrible things infuriated her. Ripping her mouth from his, she slapped him. Hard. So hard in fact his pale cheek bore the red print of all four of her fingers, her palm, and even her thumb. "Why do you act like that? Is it to save me, or yourself, from doing something stupid like falling in love?"

"Hmph." He sat back on his feet in kneeling position.

Daniella dropped onto her back, grunting as the air was pushed out of her lungs. Picking up the long ribbons attached to the bow on her nightgown between her breasts, she twiddled them as apprehension took hold of her whole body.

"You're not any different than me. You know that? You're just as scared and selfish as I am," Daniella accused, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. "Don't act so self-righteous with me when you're the same. I think you dislike me because you see so many things in me that remind you of yourself."

"Nicolas reminds you of someone you loved. I remind you of someone you loved," Worick pointed out boldly. He knew instantly that he had hit an extremely raw emotional nerve when she jerked to a sitting position and her eyes were as big as serving platters. Her father had warned him not to mention it to her, not to let her know that he had divulged their deepest, darkest family secret. Having Daniel Monroe taking him into confidence so quickly, sharing such an intimate detail of his life, had made Worick feel absolutely elated. He had been taken under the big boss's wing as a pupil and as a confidante. It was almost like a father/son bond was forming - what one should really be like. Although he did not understand the depth of Monroe's love for his daughter, he understood that he had acted as a father should to protect her. "Why did you come rushing in there like that this morning?"

"Because I - " Her mouth was dry and she found it impossible to speak. After twisting off the gold cap of the bottle of water, she took a sip. Once she had inhaled and exhaled a cleansing, steadying breath, she continued speaking. "I just couldn't stand having the past repeat itself. I was frightened he might do something to you. To you and Nic," she swiftly added when Worick grinned broadly. "I know it was an irrational fear, but at the time -"

"At the time, you were blinded by the past," he offered. Recollections of the past would pop up at the most unexpected and inconvenient times. Bad memories had a way of doing that it. All too often he still awoke in a cold sweat from reliving the past in nightmares. "Yeah, I get it."

"Nice to know you understand," she returned, rolling down onto her back. "To act like such a shallow person, you sure do like to have some deep conversations."

"I suppose so, Princess." Worick stretched out on his belly beside her, opening his beer. There was something gratifying about the cracking of the metal seal of a can then the subsequent hiss of the release of tiny carbonation bubbles into the air.

"Do you mind not calling me that anymore?" she asked, rolling her head over to the side to glance at him.

"What should I call you then? Bit-" His words were cut off by her hand clamping over his mouth. Worick was shocked and a little impressed by her unexpected and amazingly swift movement.

"Don't you dare," she warned him, removing her hand from his mouth.

"I could call you Dani," he suggested, slurping his beer.

"No, I don't think so. Besides, all of Daddy's friends, and some of his enemies, call him Danny. Gunslinger Danny," she reminded him.

"Hmmmm," he hummed. "I'll think of something."

"I have no doubt that you will think of something," she assured him, giving him a grin.

This time the silence that grew between them was comfortable and tranquil. Worick was lost in his thoughts when he heard the first light snore come from her. He could not stop a smile from spreading across his face as her snores grew louder when she drifted into a deeper sleep. A snore, loud and tremulous, like a great vicious beast roared through her nose before she blew a puff of air loudly through her mouth.

"Well, that's terrifying," he mumbled to himself. He took the time to finish his beer before setting about the task of getting her into the bed.

Worick got into a kneeling position, grasping her by the wrists to pull her into a sitting position. He put his arms around her waist to hold her body against his while he tentatively and slowly raised himself to a standing position. Struggling under her dead weight, he dragged her to the bed taking cautious steps backwards. Before he could turn around to lay her down on her back, he lost his balance and fell onto the mattress with her on top of him.

"I suppose this could be worse," he reasoned aloud, complacently holding her in his arms while her body pressed into his. An uncomfortable hardness formed below the waist of his jeans making it get worse. An erection would make it even more difficult for him to move and maneuver the sleeping woman into the bed. He rolled his body to the side, flipping her over onto her back. Listening to the frightful sounds of the Princess who snored like a dragon eventually took care of the arousal she had stirred up in him. He stood up, picking up her legs by the ankles to swing them over onto the mattress. Using the pink blanket that had been carelessly piled onto the foot of the bed, he covered her body. Sometime soon he wanted to check out that tattoo on her thigh more closely, but definitely not tonight.

Worick was not quite as chivalrous as his buddy Nicolas. He began to strip, dropping his clothes into a pile on the floor next to her bed. Naked was his preferred sleeping attire. After slipping under the covers which separated their bodies and prevented them from touching, he cuddled up next to the woman who had finally ceased making the monstrous racket. He chastefully kissed her cheek, allowing his lips to glide across her skin to her ear. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. She smelled like whipped cream, vanilla and sugar.

"Good night, Princess."


	6. Chapter 6

Daniella woke up early. So early the room was still dark because the sun had not yet risen. The air had cooled considerably but the humidity had left a layer of dampness on her skin. She had forgotten to close to the windows. Damn. She shivered and sank into the warmth surrounding her. It was then she realized she was enveloped in two thin but muscular arms that held her possessively. His chest vibrated under her cheek when he emitted a groan of contentment before squeezing her so hard she could barely breathe. Thankfully, he relaxed his grip on her pretty quickly so she could inhale and exhale normally. Surprisingly there was nothing sexual about his embrace. She felt safe and happy in his arms. Each of them were wrapped in their own cocoon of covers which separated their bodies making the physical contact more affectionate than sexual.

Worick showed a much softer side when his defenses of seduction and blustery bullshit were not shielding his feelings. Of course, no one can maintain their emotional walls of separation while sleeping. Her mind gravitated toward musings of what it would be like to sleep with Nicolas, what deep seated, hidden emotions he would be display while lost in his dreams. Then her thoughts switched to herself. How much of her secret feelings had she unveiled while asleep? She was actually curious to know herself because at the moment she had no idea how she really felt about Worick or Nicolas - or anything. Her face heated with embarrassment when she recalled revealing the emotional wounds that did bother her when she freaked out yesterday. Since her pleasant outing with Nicolas, she had been plagued with constant fantasies of staying here, of getting close to her father again, and of becoming an integral part of his organization like she used to be. Did she really want to do that? And why?

Daniella attempted to extricate herself from Worick's arms which caused him to stir as if he might wake up. She stilled her movements, holding her breath while he wiggled downward. Her attempt to slide out of the bed was thwarted when his arms circled around her waist and his head rested on her belly. She exhaled deeply in aggravation causing her breasts to push against the crown of his head under them. Well this was awkward. And a little uncomfortable since his arm was jammed between the bed and her body that was angled oddly leaving her half lying on her back and half on her side. Not to mention her boobs were being supported by his head which was plain weird. Her fingertips gingerly touched his shoulders before sliding over them get a firm hold. She pushed downward in an attempt to shove him away and escape his embrace that was no longer comforting.

"Please," Worick mumbled, pressing his face into her belly. "Let's stay like this for just a little while longer."

"But it - " She grunted as she rolled over a little while trying to move his arm from under her body. "It kind of hurts lying like this."

"Oh." He removed his arm from around her waist then scooted back up in the bed toward the headboard. He lay his head on the other pillow next to hers, cramming the offending arm under the pillow supporting his head. If he could see, he surmised he would be face to face with her, his eye staring into hers. He could feel her breath on his chin but it was too dark to see anything. "It was nice. Holding you like that."

Daniella immediately felt guilty. It had been nice. Since he was awake and aware of the situation they had been in, she was sure he would commence to say something stupid to ruin the moment. Now was as a good a time as any to make the retreat she had attempted twice already.

"Are you going to make running away from men who care about you a habit?" he asked, groaning and squeezing his eye shut tightly when she flipped on the small lamp on the table beside the bed. The lamp was barely brighter than a nightlight but after being accustomed to the blackness it was as bright as the noonday sun.

"You care about me?" she inquired, pushing herself out of the bed.

"A little. Maybe," he muttered, pulling the cover over his head to hide his face. "Don't read too much into that, Princess. Besides, it's your feelings that need to be sorted out if you will recall from our conversation last night."

"Yes, of course." She stared at the large lump under her puffy comforter covered in small pink roses. The temptation to wrap up in her blanket and snuggle back into his arms was incredibly strong yet she resisted. She wanted to read a little while drinking coffee then go find Nicolas. Her plans for the day were to get started on learning sign language as soon as possible.

"Can you bring me a cup of coffee?" Worick requested.

Daniella slammed the drawer closed after retrieving a pair of cut off denim shorts. "Do I look like your maid?"

"No. But you'll make some poor schmuck a nice wife someday," he retorted, throwing the covers back from his head. He watched her back as she stripped off the nightgown and carelessly tossed it to the floor. His eyes glided over her lightly tanned skin with avarice, taking in the sight of her greedily as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Her skin was smooth like silk and felt great under his hands. He wondered what it would be like to sink his fingers into her shoulder blades, grasping her tightly while she sat on top of him riding him hard.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" she demanded.

Worick closed his eye, sighing with disappoint. Not only was she fully dressed having put on a bra and shapeless t-shirt two sizes to big in the most god awful lime green color, her voice had turned high pitched and grated on his nerves. Her banshee like howl had destroyed his salacious fantasy and brought him back to the present with the same sobering effect of ice cold water being dumped on him. She aggravated him and fascinated him which is the only reason he had decided to continue this ridiculous job. Besides, it was easy money babysitting the pretty little rich girl who he enjoyed harrassing as much as possible.

"What were you saying?" Worick released a yawn that was something like the roar of lion, massive gaping maw and loud volume included, when she tried to answer him by repeating herself.

Daniella picked up his discarded clothes that lay in haphazard pile on the floor beside her bed. She threw them at his face, smiling with satisfaction when one leg of his jeans wrapped around his head to smack him in the mouth. "Get up and get your own fucking coffee."

"Oooooh, and to think you've kissed me with that filthy mouth," he teased, taking great joy in watching her turn red from her forehead to her neck.

"You kissed me, " she corrected him, whirling around on her heel to walk toward the door. "So far I have not willingly given you a single kiss. You've stolen every one of them. You're a goddamn thief."

"And you've got a really nasty tongue this morning. What's wrong with you? Feeling a little frustrated?" he questioned her with a smirk on his face. He threw off the covers and climbed out of the bed to coincide with her turning around to glare at him. Taking a moment to stretch, he gave her a few seconds to decide if she wanted to gaze upon his naked body or act offended before spinning back around to act like she was not interested. "I can help you out with that you know. I can help you relieve all your stress."

"I'm sure," she snorted, keeping her eyes locked onto his face. Her temper continued to rise as he lazily unfurled his jeans and began to pull them on. _Commando, huh? That's not surprising._ Her hand instantly smacked her forehead as if to banish her thoughts while he slowly tugged up the zipper on his pants but left the button undone. She was frustrated. Locked in emotional turmoil about many things, under going a tense battle with herself over what she should do with the rest of her life among other things. Her eyes skimmed over his slight chest before he covered it with the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing last night. He looked good now but one day he would be an amazing looking man. Sad part about him was that he knew it. He knew the extent of his handsomeness, and he used it manipulate women out of money and into feeling things that were not true. But the women were not victims either. They knew it. That temporary fantasy of love and his nice little body was what they paid him for. She suddenly felt sick at her stomach. The intense confusion over warm fuzzy feelings for Nicolas and the sexual tension between herself and Worick were her own fault. She was the one who had brought them here. Her actions trapped her in this dilemma, and there was no one else to blame. This really sucked right out loud. Her next words were spoken in her mounting anger toward herself. "I thought we established last night that I was in love with Nicolas."

"So you _are_ in love with him?"

"What?!" Daniella screeched as if suddenly becoming aware of the words that had actually come out of her mouth. She turned her back to him, clutching the doorknob in an attempt to make a quick exit. To her dismay and increasing humiliation, Worick was there in flash, shoving the half opened door closed. He was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck which caused wisps of hair to tickle the sensitive skin.

"Are you?" His voice was deep, throaty. Sexy. He swallowed, the sound audible to her ears. There was some satisfaction to be had in the fact that this conversation was making him as uncomfortable as it was her.

"Am I what?" She was playing dumb on purpose. She hoped he would open the door and shoo her away with annoyance, even it was out of her own room. Her breath caught in her throat when his fingers scraped across her neck as he pushed aside her shoulder length hair that she had neglected to twist into her usual bun.

"Tell me the truth," he urged her.

His voice was breathy, seductive in her ear. His lips grazed the outer curve of her ear at the top where a single diamond stud pierced the cartilage. She had noticed he wore a silver cuff at the same spot on his ear. He had several piercings in his ears, but none anywhere else. No tattoos either. Perhaps he and Nicolas should get matching tattoos like she and her friends did as an outward show of their bond for life. She would not do anything to drive a wedge between him and Nic. Hopefully, she had not already done so. Considering how fiercely protective they were of each other, she doubted they would allow that to happen. She turned her head slightly so she could look into his singular, pale blue eye that was focused intently on her darker grayish blue eyes. "No. I care about you both. But I don't _love_ either of you. Don't you think it would be a little too soon to be in love anyway?"

"How long does it take to fall in love?"

Daniella was not sure if that was a rhetorical question or if he wanted an answer. She had lied to him, but it was everyone's own good. Love at first sight was something she no longer believed in, and she would not rekindle that belief under present circumstances. However, she did feel something for Nicolas - for the both of them. What that feeling was exactly had yet to be determined. They were employees. But they were also family members like the abrasive little brothers she never wanted. On the other hand, she found each of them attractive in their own distinctive ways; both of them pulling at her heartstrings on a deeper more romantic level. "I am such an idiot."

"Yes. You are," Worick agreed, smiling sincerely at her. He kissed her on the forehead. "But you're my idiot."

Daniella lowered her eyes, exhaling noisily. Her whole body grew warm with a full body blush. She was thinking out loud far too much today. His tender reaction to her verbal blunder had assuaged her humiliation and filled her with a sensation of fulfillment. She loved to hate him sometimes. At times like this he made it easy for her to want to love him. He always made it far too easy to feel way too much, whether the emotions be positive or negative. She never knew exactly what strong emotion he would evoke in her when she was around him.

Nicolas was calmer, steadier on an emotional level like a gently flowing stream. He caused emotions to flow through her slowly, moving her along as if guiding her to something bigger and stronger like a rushing river. Worick was like the undertow of the ocean, pulling her under and threatening to drown her before sending her back to the surface to leave her cold and gasping for air wondering what in the hell had just happened. Also like the sea's undercurrent, he never real let her go but allowed for a small respite before tossing her wildly about on the waves of emotions.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, running his hand through her thick wavy hair.

"Nothing. I'm going downstairs." She had to make an escape before the emotional riptide he created overwhelmed her. Opening the door, she left the room and Worick in it. She needed to find Nic, to be soothed and quieted by his somewhat detached and dispassionate presence. The strong silent type was usually not her type, but she liked that in him.

"Hey!" Worick yelled after her when she disappeared around the corner to the stairs.

Daniella backed up the two steps she had descended to peek around the wall at him. Without saying a word, she waited for him to speak. She feared what might come out of her mouth since she appeared to have no filter between her brain and lips today.

"I like your hair down. You should wear it like that more often." He smiled at her then waved her off as if she were a servant to whom he had given an order.

Daniella could definitely believe he had been a rich kid once. Worick was certainly an enigma. A puzzle with many pieces that didn't seem to fit, but somehow, they all did come together to form a captivating and infuriating individual. She took the hair band out of her pocket while impatiently gathering her hair with her other hand to pull it up into a ponytail.

"Dammit," she grumbled upon entering the deserted kitchen.

There was no coffee. She glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove to check the time. Five thirty. No wonder. The cook did not arrive until six and the men usually did not get up until seven. She set about making the coffee herself. While waiting for the pot to work it's magic, she stared out of the kitchen window to watch the sunrise. When the golden globe was halfway above the horizon, she could see a body silhouetted by the yellow light. He was standing by the pool with his back toward the house, his shirt off and his arms raised. Slowly he lowered them to his sides. Her eyes followed the measured movements when his arms raised again, his fingers extending to the sky as if he wanted to touch it. Once again his arms gradually lowered to rest against his sides. Then he bent to pick up his katana. He twisted and thrust the sword into the air to his right as if he was stabbing an enemy. Swinging the blade above his head then slicing downward at an angle, he completed a full turn before making the same movement in the opposite direction. It was like watching a dance with precise, elegant, yet forceful movements. A deadly dance, beautiful but lethal, meant for killing.

Daniella inadvertently jumped when the coffee pot beeped signalling that it was done. Her heart beat against her chest like a caged bird uselessly beats its wings against a locked metal door. She poured her coffee, added cream and chocolate syrup for a little something different. Then she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a clean dishtowel from the drawer to take them out to Nicolas. He would no doubt be working up a sweat practicing his swordsmanship. She sat down in a chair at the corner behind him so that he would not notice her and stop what he was doing. Just after the sun fully appeared in the sky, she was joined by her father.

"Good morning, Daddy," she greeted him, smiling when he bent to kiss the cheek she offered to him.

"Good morning, Itsy Bitsy," he returned, sitting down in the chair across the table from her. After a few minutes of silence while the both casually observed Nicolas, he spoke. "That kid is amazing with his sword."

"Yes, he is."

"You know what he is right?"

"I know," she admitted, sitting her cup down on the table. Her hand had begun to shake, and she didn't want to risk dropping her cup. "He's like Romeo, a Tag...but he's not him."

"I'm afraid the other one would be more like Romeo than this one. Worick is deceptive and is extraordinarily sincere about his lies," Daniel pointed out as if his daughter did not already know. _Just like your beloved Romeo,_ he wanted to add but did not. That kid had been a world class liar and had fooled them all. His daughter had been deceived by allowing her emotions to become clouded and not allowing herself to see him for what he really was. He did not want that to happen again. "Worick looks like him too. Maybe that's why you two don't get along so well."

Daniella emitted an obnoxious bleating guffaw of contempt. "Oh, Daddy. There's so many other reasons for Worick and myself to not get along. You have no idea." She picked up her cup to take a drink, looking at her father over the rim. "But he likes you. I believe he already thinks of you as his own father. The one he never had."

"Really? Hmmmm," he hummed thoughtfully, lacing his fingers behind his head. "I suppose that's good. I guess I'm having a difficult time trusting that kid because he reminds me of - " He stopped talking when his daughter coughed and cleared her throat. "Of you know who."

"Thank you. I'd rather not hear his name again. I almost choked on it when I said it earlier," she confessed.

"Do you have any plans today?"

"I was thinking about hanging around the house. Reading, swimming, eating, napping...doing as little as possible."

"That sounds like a good plan. However..."

 _Oh, god,_ she groaned inwardly, looking away from her father so he would not see her rolling her eyes. She did not want to have to do anything akin to real work.

"After lunch I want you to come to the shooting range for a little practice. Tomorrow I need you to make a delivery for me. It's to your Uncle Luca."

Daniella sighed in relief. She did not mind making a delivery to her uncle.

"Is there any particular reason you're trying to get me back into the family business so soon?" she inquired, determined to root out any ulterior motives. He may be her father but he was still the head of a criminal organization. Personal agendas and hidden motives naturally came along with the territory.

"Yes. I don't want you to leave, Daniella," he replied truthfully. "I want to bring you back into the fold and get you so deeply entrenched in taking care of transactions that you won't be able to leave."

Daniella choked on her coffee. That was the first time she could remember him called her by her real name unless he was angry with her which had been like twice in her life. He was not angry at the moment, but he was indeed being quite serious and shockingly truthful.

"Perhaps I'm being selfish, but I want my little girl to stay home with me...where she belongs and where she's sorely missed," he added, pretending that there was something exceedingly interesting in the distance in the direction opposite from her.

"Daddy." She reached out to take his hand but about that time Nicolas turned to face them. She was sure he had been aware of their presence the whole time because he remained unfazed and expressionless as he greeted them with a formal bow. The gesture showed his half Japanese heritage not to mention his personal discipline connected to the particular art of the sword he practiced. Daniella carefully picked up the glass bottle of water that was slick with condensation to take it and the towel to him. She extended her hands to offer them to him. He touched the tips of his fingers to his chin then tilted them back toward her to express his gratitude in sign language. She hastily made the hand movements for 'you're welcome' that she had seen while glancing over the book full pictures depicting the signs for basic conversational sign language.

"I'm going to take a shower," he told her aloud.

"When you're done, come to the study downstairs," she said, receiving a nod in return.

Daniella looked at her father who was observing her through the tendrils of white smoke from his cigarette. She held his eyes which never wavered from her face. "What?"

"Be careful, baby," he cautioned her with fatherly concern. "I can't stand to see you with another broken heart."

"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll be fine," she assured him. She walked toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She smiled when he laid his hand over hers giving it a squeeze. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"I know. I'm painfully aware of that fact." He patted her cheek lovingly like he did when she was still a child although she had just told him she was no longer one. "Please think about staying. Your old man loves you."

"I love my old man," she laughed lightly despite not feeling jovial at all.

Daniella kissed him on the forehead before leaving to return to the house. All of the men in her life were unintentionally making her miserable. Upon entering the kitchen, she was bombarded with the sound clanging of pans and scratching of whisks on metal bowls. The cook was shouting orders to his helpers who scurried around like mad, sweating and red faced. The scents of baking bread, frying sausage, and perking coffee were absolutely divine.

The chief cook was a man somewhere in his fifties with a bald head, smooth and hairless as a newborn baby's bottom. He was over six feet tall and weighed at least three hundred pounds. 'Never trust a skinny cook,' was his motto, and he meant it. His cooking skills had been learned from his grandmother which meant his food was the best thing one could ever put in their mouth. He was once a mercenary long ago in his life before being employed by Daniel Monroe. When she was a child, Eddie would sit her on the counter and regal her with stories from his past that were like the spy movies she watched. He was the one who taught her how to slice, julienne, and dice. His old-fashioned epicurean wisdom enabled her to make everything from the perfect ham sandwich for a midnight snack to seven course dinners for affluent guests.

"Eddie?" Daniella called to get his attention but he did not look up from the frying pan where he was sauteing onions, peppers, and mushrooms.

"It's about time you came to see me girl," he fussed at her.

Daniella smiled. Still an old grouch after all these years. He was like the baguettes he baked from scratch; a hard, crusty exterior with a fluffy, tender interior. She went to him, throwing her arms around his poochy middle. Her arms barely enclosed him half way around his girth. Many years of eating his own great cooking had given him his fabulous figure that was equivalent to that of a stuffed bear. She cried out when he turned and captured her in a breath stealing bear hug to further enforce his bear like appearance.

"We've all missed you around here. Are you home to stay? I sure hope so. Your dad hasn't been this happy in six years," he gushed not realizing she was no longer listening after he asked her about staying home.

Daniella began to feel queasy. She attributed it to not eating when her stomach growled in protest to smelling the wonderful scents of his cooking.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm just hungry. Is it okay if I steal a few croissants and some fruit?"

"With all of this good food? Don't be silly! Give me a few minutes, and I'll fix you right up with a western omelette and the other stuff you asked for. Here. Have another cup of coffee," he suggested, taking another but larger coffee cup down from the cabinet.

"Could you bring the food to the study? I have some reading I would like to do," she explained when he gave her a suspicious raise of an eyebrow.

"Do I look like your servant?" he demanded smartly.

Daniella allowed a slow smile to spread her lips and perk them up at the corners. "Well, technically - "

"Out!" the large burly man commanded, pointing at the door with his wooden spoon. "Out of my kitchen."

Daniella turned on her heel, counting her steps as she walked away. It used to only take three steps before he would give in and acquiesce to whatever she had requested of him. _One, two, three, f-_

"I will bring your breakfast to the study. Along with a fresh pot of coffee," he informed her before she left the kitchen.

"I love you, Eddie."

"You're still a pain in my ass, Daniella Monroe!"

Daniella ran up to her room to retrieve the books. Her bed was empty and her room vacant. She was almost disappointed. After gathering up the items she had strewn on the floor, she tossed them in the bag to carry it back downstairs. Breathless by the time she reached the study, she wished she had asked Nicolas to grab the books. He was already in the room waiting for her, standing stiffly beside the garish maroon velvet Victorian fainting couch embellished with gold trim. She dropped to the floor by the huge square table made of ebony wood with square plates of glass set into the top. Once the bag was unloaded, the items covering the whole table, she patted the gold and maroon Persian rug next to her in an invitation for him to sit down.

"Do you recognize this?" she asked, handing him the book that had caught Worick's attention.

Nicolas nodded once, staring at the book while he took it from her as if it were a priceless relic. He opened the pages, carressing the pages in the same manner Worick had last night. This book held great importance for the both of them since this was how they had bonded, forming their friendship through learning a way for them to communicate with each other. Nicolas was not complicated. He was actually quite open with his emotions when he finally did express them.

Daniella rested her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. "Teach me. I want to learn. I want to talk to you." When he looked down, she caught his chin between her thumb and forefinger raising his face for him to look at her once again. "I want you to talk to me. I want to hear your voice."

"Why?" His eyes gazed into hers with unrelenting determination. He would not be denied an answer.

"Because I want to know you better. Your thoughts, your dreams, your likes, your dislikes," she murmured, scooting closer to him. Her thumb moved over his lower lip that was full and jutted out slightly from his thin upper lip. She wanted to kiss him. "I like hearing your voice. I would like to know everything about you."

"Why?" he pressed her, placing his hands against the sides of her face.

His hands were huge. His palms spanned each side of her face from her forehead to her chin. His fingers enclosed her entire head. He could probably crush her skull if he wanted to because his hands were powerful. However, the only thing she could feel from those hands at the moment were kindness and gentleness.

"Because I like you." She leaned forward, her lips hovering close to his. She waited for him to accept or decline her advance. Unlike some people, she would not be a thief and take what was not being willingly given. His eyelids dropped indicating his acceptance of her offer of a kiss. Before she could bridge the short distance between them, the door to the room burst open.

"Here it is! Your breakfast, little miss," Eddie announced, sweeping into the room with a massive tray in his hands.

Daniella jerked away from Nicolas, picking up one of the books from the table. Before she could open it in front of her face in an attempt to hide her reddened cheeks, Nicolas ripped the book from her hands. She opened her mouth to protest. Her words froze in her throat when he turned the book over, opened it, and handed it back to her to shield her face. If she was going to pretend to read, she should at least hold the book right side up to carry off ruse. "You can just put that on the table. Thank you, Eddie."

"What in the hell is all of this?" he mumbled, using one brawny arms to sweep books and videos and whatever else was in the way onto the floor. "You don't know the meaning of light reading do you?"

"I never said it was light," she argued from behind her book.

"Well, whatever. If you don't show up to the dining room at lunch I'll bring that here too."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know," he rejoined, giving her an amiable grin. He turned his penetrating dark gray eyes on Nicolas to give him a scathing look. It was a silent warning that he better not lay a hand on Daniella. He considered her to be like his own child because he had been working in this house since before she was born. He had seen her grow up and had played a vital role in raising her. This was the only real family he had over known, and she was the only child he would ever have in his life.

Daniella stayed hidden behind her book that she was not actually reading. She was the one who had been trying to make a move on Nicolas. If anyone was in actual peril here it would be him and not her. She did not put down the book until she heard the door close with a click. Her stomach tightened and complained with hunger. First they would eat, then they would get down to learning. So much for a break from school. But then again, she might not be going back to university. Her eyes skirted over the young man next to her. She wanted to get to know him better. Her father wanted her to stay. She had been reminded of many of the good things about living in Ergastulum in short time she had been home.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, she exhaled noisily through her mouth with a groan that made her sound as if she were in pain. _Just breathe_ , she reminded herself. Nothing about anything was set in stone as of yet. She was not required to make any definite decisions at this very moment. Until now her life had been lived on impulse, making split second choices when she had been backed into a corner. It would take time for her to sort things out. She had to give herself that time. She leaned over to give Nicolas a friendly peck on the cheek. He did not allow the unexpected show of affection to distract him from his food. However, she believed she saw the corner of his mouth shift upward into the beginning of a smile while he chewed. _Just breathe._


	7. Chapter 7

The day passed quickly. After lunch Daniella went to the shooting range to show her father that she had kept up on her shooting skills. Her father had her test out a few of the weapons from a new shipment he had just received. There was an old-fashioned pistol grip shotgun that she would love to have kept as her own, but it had been purchased by a specific individual. She tried out an automatic rifle, a handheld machine gun that fired two thousand rounds a minute, and a semi automatic pistol made by a company that she had never heard of before. Keeping her skills sharp had been easy. There was a shooting range near the university that the local police had allowed her to use. At first they had agreed to her practicing there as a joke. Apparently they assumed she would come once or twice a year, just enough to be able to renew her pistol permit and be able to hit the broad side of a barn should she ever have to actually draw her weapon. Once they saw her shoot, they made a deal with her that if she would teach one class a month to their trainees, she could come as often as she liked.

Once shooting practice was over, Daniella laid by the pool to read and wile away her afternoon. She took breaks from reading in between chapters to swim and cool off. It was the first time in days she had been by herself. At first she felt bereft and lonely not having one of them by her side. Gradually she became accustomed to her solitude, enjoying being able to do what she wanted without being under the watchful eyes of a hired sitter. She had not talked to Worick all day because he had stuck close to her father's side as if he were his shadow. Nicolas had been nowhere to be found because her father had sent him off to assist with finalizing the amount and packing the Celebrer they would be taking to Cristiano the next day.

Dinner was eaten without her companions or her father. She ate in the kitchen with Eddie, content to hear his constant running monologue about everything that had happened while she was gone. He also informed her of all the latest gossip within the organization, catching her up on all of the really juicy stuff. Eddie always had been worse than any woman when it came to gossip. Being in the kitchen, he seemed to hear and know everything that happened within the household. The men also seemed to view him as a confidante when seeking delicious comfort food to soothe their troubled souls and empty bellies.

After dinner, Daniella retreated to her room to take a shower and read some more before Nicolas came to find her. Tonight it was his turn to stay with her. She was laying on the floor at the end of her bed looking over the sign language book detailing the hand movements for certain phrases when Nicolas walked into the room. On her belly and facing away from the door, she did not see him enter. She was listening to music through her headphones which prevented her from hearing him as well. However, when he had opened the door, a puff of cool air swept over her legs that were bared by her pajama shorts. The movement of air warned her that something had moved in the room. Goose bumps raised on her arms when she sensed his proximity to her seconds thereafter. She could feel his eyes on her which made an uncomfortable tingle form at the base of her spine and slowly creep upward. She pondered if this was what it was like for him, how Nic sensed someone nearby because he could not hear them.

Daniella pulled her knees forward under her to get into a kneeling position before sitting back on her heels. She smiled at Nicolas as he knelt down in front of her, mirroring her sitting position. Taking the book from him that he handed her, she eyed him questioningly as he tapped the cover for her to look at it. It was the book on how speech is formed by the combination of the tongue, teeth, and lips. There was a whole section on how sound is created from the throat in the larynx. She was actually quite interested in getting started on this part as well. Opening the book to the bookmarked page, she skimmed over the chapter that detailed the teaching technique employed by Anne Sullivan, Helen Keller's teacher, who taught her how to talk. Helen Keller was both blind and deaf. At least they only had one physical disadvantage to work with. She lay the book on the floor, leaving it open to the pages of the drawings that depicted the way Helen would place her hands on her teacher's face to feel the vibrations and movement in her throat, nose, and mouth.

Daniella took his big hands in hers, placing one against her throat. He would feel the vibrations of her larynx against his palm. His fingers could almost touch his thumb behind her neck. She took his other hand in hers, laying his thumb over the corner of her mouth and pressing the palm to her cheek. His forefinger lay next to her nose so he could detect the air flow through her nose. The movement of her jaw would be felt under his palm. The placement of his hand was awkward due to the outrageous size of it, his fingers extending upward past her temple and the heel of his hand resting on her jawline. They would make it work for the sake of the experiment.

"Nicolas, can you feel me speaking?" she asked, watching his face. She smiled when he nodded enthusiastically with wide eyes. How fascinating and exciting had this been for Helen Keller who could neither see nor hear? She could not imagine. Not sure what to say, she began reciting random lines she recalled from Shakespearean plays.

" _Love is like a child, that longs for everything it can come by,"_ she proclaimed, quoting from _The Two Gentleman of Verona_. She was glad she had not said that with Worick in the room. He would have been sure to make a remark about that quote being made for her because she was still Daddy's spoiled little girl. Takes one brat to know another was all she could think.

" _I would not wish any companion in the world but you,"_ she stated next, speaking the words from _The Tempest._

Daniella held Nic's dark eyes when they latched onto hers. Suddenly she could not think of any more quotes or any words at all for that matter. Her lips trembled slightly when his thumb moved across them with feather-light pressure. When his eyes dropped to her mouth, she kept her eyes glued to his, watching them move under the heavy lids and thick eyelashes.

"Talk to me," he requested aloud, keeping his line of vision on her mouth.

" _Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none; be able for thine enemy rather in power than use; and keep thy friend under thine own life's key; be checked for silence, but never taxed for speech,"_ she recited, unable to remember what Shakespearean piece this was from. The pad of his finger pressed into the her lips, causing her tongue to brush across it as she spoke. By the way he was concentrating on her mouth, she could tell he was paying close attention to how her tongue moved to form certain sounds. The highly erotic nature of the touch was making it difficult to concentrate on the scholarly aspects of the placement of his fingers.

Daniella paused, her brain struggling to come up with her next words. She closed her eyes to take her attention away from his face that was tense due to paying close attention to her every movement. He looked older and quite handsome; not the pretty kind of good looking like Worick but a masculine comeliness that comes from a square jaw and high cheekbones, giving her a glimpse of the man he would become. She tried to think of something, anything, to say but nothing came to her addled brain.

"Nicolas," she breathed, opening her eyes to look at him. "I don't know what else to say."

"We should get to bed then," he suggested, removing his hands from her face and neck.

That sounded like an excellent idea. Daniella was exhausted from the day and tomorrow could unexpectedly turn into an epic clusterfuck right quick and in a hurry. She put her hand in the proffered one extended to her by the young man who had stood to his feet. When he pulled her to a standing position in front of him, she leaned forward to hug him.

"What is that for?" he asked using his voice since his hands were on her waist.

Daniella leaned back from him so he could see her lips. "Just because."

"Just because," he repeated, his eyebrows drawing together inquisitively.

Daniella smiled at him. Suddenly, he kissed her. She did not have time act surprised because it was over so fast. The kiss was short and innocent. Although she expected him to release her and act as if nothing had happened, he continued to hold her. She forgot how to breathe when he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Her head fit perfectly under his chin, and her body pressed into his as she encompassed his shoulders with her arms. When his hands cupped her cheeks to tilt her head upward, she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. His lips were soft and sensual; his full lower lip fitting between hers and his upper lip resting just above her top lip. She thought the kiss was over when he lifted his mouth but instead he immediately connected with her again, this time catching her lower lip between his. It was as if he was tasting her lips separately to determine if he liked one better than the other.

Daniella moaned as he continued to kiss her tenderly with his mouth pressed squarely to hers. Her stomach muscles tightened with almost painful intensity when the tip of his tongue tested the slight part between her lips. Her fingers dug into the smooth, warm skin of his shoulders that were bared by his favorite black tank top. His tongue quickly withdrew before going any further. She wondered if he was getting as aroused as she was by the sweet, searching kisses.

"Nicky," she breathed, her lips moving against his. She moaned again when his hand pressed against her throat. She spoke his name once more so he could feel the vibration of her vocal chords.

"I wish I could hear you," he murmured without removing his mouth from hers, making him a little harder than usual to understand him but she received the message loud and clear.

Daniella pulled back from him so he could see her face to read her lips. "Words aren't always the best means of communication. Sometimes actions speak louder than words."

Nicolas dropped his arms from around her body, stepping back from her. Raising his hands, he signed to her, _"Do they?"_

Daniella could not tell if he was being a smart aleck or being serious. She nodded in wordless affirmation instead, taking his hand in hers. She led him to the bed, sitting down on the side. When he sat down on the floor without letting her hand go, she tugged on his hand while shaking her head.

"Not there. Sleep here," she implored him, patting the bed with her other hand. He shook his head in refusal, looking away from her. "Fine then. I'll come down to you."

Daniella slid from the bed onto the floor, sitting beside him. Nicolas turned his head to look at her, taking hold of her bicep. She stubbornly sat on her butt refusing to move as he tugged on her arm to make her get back on the bed. When he pointed to the bed while frowning darkly at her, it was her turn to shake her head vigorously in resolute rejection of his request to get up from the floor.

"Why?" he asked aloud, keeping his hand on her arm.

"I just want to be close to you," she replied, pulling his mouth back to hers. Although he had been extremely responsive to the earlier kiss, this time his lips remained firmly in place, pressed together in a thin line of annoyance. She pulled back from him to stare at his face hardened with obstinance.

"Why?" he asked again.

Daniella sighed dejectedly. Obviously he was going to turn this into a game of twenty questions, dampening the mood until the moment had passed. She stared at him with a calm, level gaze, holding his dark eyes with hers. He gave nothing away about his emotional state in those limitless eyes. Even the aggravation he had been showing earlier had passed from them.

"What are you afraid of?" she questioned him, taking his other hand in hers. When he jerked his hand from hers, she immediately felt slighted and humiliated.

 _"Nothing,"_ he gestured with his hands.

 _Sometimes it's easier to deal with the devil you know than the angel you don't._ Her father had spoken those words to her to long ago to explain to her why he continued to stay in the dangerous underworld business of gun and drug trafficking. His words had inexplicably emerged from the recesses of her memory as she stared at the silent, brooding man sitting beside her. Maybe Nicolas rejected her touch because he was simply not accustomed to receiving any type of tenderness.

Nicolas had not been offered many kindnesses and comforts in his life - of that she was certain. That would explain why he chose to sleep on the hard, uncomfortable floor rather than a bed. He still seemed unsure of how to handle any gentleness given to him, particularly an intimate type such as an embrace or a kiss. But he had kissed her first. So why did he quickly spurn her when she reacted positively, returning the gesture? Apparently his past still haunted him ways she could never understand despite wanting to. Then she might understand him better. She only knew bits and pieces of his past from the few cryptic statements Worick had allowed to slip past his defenses. Sometimes it was a good thing that Worick talked too much because he accidentally divulged sensitive information about his and Nic's past. Perhaps he purposely and cunningly leaked the slivers of their past together to interest her into asking about more. With him, it was difficult to discern his intentions.

Nicolas drew her attention when he moved to position his back against the side of the bed as he prepared to go to sleep. Not much bothered him. Not even tense emotional moments. He allowed the stress to slip away from his consciousness as if it had never happened. Daniella envied him for that. There were some emotional wounds that she might have been spared had she been able to allow the events to disappear from her mind. Being a Twilight, his emotions were dulled. But what other psychological damage had he incurred to be so immune to his own feelings?

"Oh, Nicky," she sighed sadly, laying her head on his shoulder. She took his hand in hers, cuddling up next to him.

When he raised up, she became apprehensive that he was going to insist she get into the bed. She watched anxiously as he turned to reach for something on the bed. A smile touched her lips when he grabbed her blanket then turned back to her to lay it over her body. Once he was still again, she resumed nestling her body against his. At least he did not seem to mind getting close to her in some ways. Perhaps one of these days he would permit her to become closer.

~...~

* * *

"Wake up, Princess!" Worick yelled, startling her out of a deep, contented sleep.

"Worick! What the hell?!" she screamed when he nudged her behind with his foot.

"What are ya doing on the floor?" he inquired, snatching the blanket off of her.

"AHHHHH!" she shrieked in surprise and aggravation.

"Ooooh, I like those shorts," he commented, bending down to slap her on the butt.

"OW! Would you stop?" she snapped, sitting up straight. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands to remove the remaining sleep from them. Opening her mouth wide, she yawned loudly while stretching.

"That's attractive sleeping beauty," he muttered, offering his hand to her to assist her with standing up.

"Oh, shut up! No one asked you to come in here to wake me up anyway," she muttered, walking toward the bathroom.

"Well, actually they did," he corrected her, following her right into the bathroom.

"Get out!" she screeched, shoving him back through the open doorway before slamming the door shut in his face and locking it.

"Nic is with your father getting last minute instructions while the car is being loaded," he told her through the door.

"Shouldn't you be there as well?"

"I've already received my orders. Your father is the one who sent me to wake you up."

"So what's the plan for today?"

Worick waited for the toilet to finish flushing before speaking. "I'll be driving a decoy car ahead of you. Nic will be in the car with you. Miles will be in a car behind you."

"Which car will I be driving?" She turned on the shower without waiting for his answer. She was already sure she would be driving her own car. If she had that much protection around her, her father would want her in something fast and unknown to rival gangs who would attempt to intercept the delivery.

This would not be her first time taking part in a drop off so she was not afraid. Actually, her heart fluttered with anticipation, beating so fast she was sure it would pound right through her chest to escape the confines of her body. Dizziness swamped her, forcing her to close her eyes and lean against the tile wall of the shower for stability until the wooziness passed. She had forgotten what it was like to experience the particular kind of adrenaline rush that came with putting one's life in jeopardy. A small taste of that heady surge of the chemical that came along with the fight or flight response had emerged when Nic had drawn his sword and held it to her throat after she had threatened Worick. Could that have been when her interest in Nicolas exceeded the limits of merely being his employer and/or friend? Had that adrenaline dump caused her emotions to run rampant and rush headlong into something more emotionally binding? Most likely.

"Hey, come on! Hurry up in there!" Worick bellowed, beating on the door as if he intended to break it down.

"All right! Keep your pants on!" she hollered back.

"Do I have to?"

Daniella giggled as she scrubbed her body. He had sounded so disappointed, almost forlorn. Jerk. She could not stop smiling. At least her made her laugh from some of his more comical sexual advances. She could not take him seriously enough to be too deeply offended by his come ons. After giving her hair a quick wash, she rinsed off any remaining soap and stepped out of the shower. Her hand stopped abruptly as she reached to flip the lock on the door.

"Worick! I need you to leave so I can come out and get dressed," she told him, waiting for a response.

"Come on out. I won't look," he assured her. He sounded like he was on the other side of her room. What was he doing in there?

"I don't believe you! Get out!"

"How's the sign language learning going?" he inquired.

"Worick! Leave!" she pleaded. She was getting cold, and her father was a stickler for punctuality. He liked working on a tight schedule, usually having everything planned down to the minute to avoid unusual occurrences and to ensure things go smoothly on a delivery to a customer.

"I know you're not the shy type. Come on out," he insisted.

Daniella gritted her teeth emitting a growling sound. She disengaged the lock with her thumb and snatched open the door. Shockingly, he was sitting on her bed with his eyes tightly closed. She walked up to him, waving her hand in front of his face.

"I told you I wouldn't look," he said, unable to see that she jumped when he startled her by speaking.

"You better keep those eyes closed," she returned, moving around the bed to her closet. She stepped inside the huge walk in closet, closing the door behind her after flipping on the light.

"Are you seriously hiding in your closet?"

"Yes, I am!"

Daniella quickly pulled a red spaghetti strapped maxi dress over her head. The mostly baggy dress hugged her unfettered breasts then flowed to her feet in a shapeless long skirt. She could go without a bra but she needed panties and those were outside the closet in her dresser. Oh well, at least she was covered and could slide them on underneath without revealing too much. Inhaling a deep breath, she stepped outside the safety of her closet to retrieve a pair of underwear.

"I'm not some vicious animal, you know. It's not like I'd take you against your will," Worick griped, folding his arms over his chest while glaring at her with aggravated disapproval.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," she shot back, stepping into the red silk panties before shimmying into them while pulling them up her legs. She noticed he did not turn to look at her. He most really be upset with her. Had she genuinely offended him? She plopped down on the bed beside him. "Listen, Worick - "

"We need to go," he announced, hopping off the bed to go to the door.

"Worick," Daniella called, grabbing her gun from the nightstand. On her way toward the door, she stooped in mid run to scoop up her sandals. "Hey, wait!"

"Save it, Daniella!" he snapped in return without stopping and without looking behind him. "I'm not in the mood for any of your bitchy comments."

Daniella picked up her skirt with her hand, holding onto it tightly as she jumped over the five steps to reach the landing below ahead of him. She stepped in front of him, pressing her hand to his chest to stop him.

"I don't feel like doing this right now," he muttered, seizing her wrist to pull her hand away.

"I don't fear what you would do to me should you touch me. I'm afraid..." She paused, sucking in a deep noisy breath. "I'm afraid of what I'd do. I might give into temptation."

"Oh?" A skeptical pale blond eyebrow raised toward his hairline. "Tempted by what?"

What a great time for him to play stupid. Daniella was attempting to have a serious moment, and he was being - HIM. She made a grunting sound of disgust and dropped her hand, spinning on the ball of her foot to walk away from him.

"Dee," he spoke in a low voice right behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder to halt her.

Daniella held her breath, closing her eyes when he slid his arms around her to hold her with her back against his chest. His arms circled her body under her breasts to hold her captive. Him holding her in such an affectionate and intimate way made her want to stay like this. She wanted Nicolas to hold her this way, but would he? God. What was she doing to herself and to them?

"I want you," he whispered, his lips so close his breath tickled her ear and made the muscles along her spine tighten with excitement. "But I know with whom your heart lies. You made your choice. I'm a selfish bastard, Dee, you know that. I want all of you. Or none of you at all."

Daniella inhaled sharply when he suddenly let her go and stepped around her. Her eyes burned with tears as she watched him walk away. She pressed the cool palm of her hand to her hot forehead.

"Dammit, Daniella, you've gotten yourself into one big hell of a mess here," she fussed at herself.

There was no good way out of the tangled she relationship she had created. Strong emotions and carnal desires clashed yet intertwined, drawing her in two different directions at once. She cared for both of them in profoundly conflicting ways. With both she feared the only outcome would be a broken heart for everyone involved. How was she to choose between them? Maybe Worick was correct when he said that Nicolas was incapable of loving her the way she wanted to be but so was he. He was the type of man who would love her wholeheartedly but only for a while until someone else came along and lured his wandering eyes and fickle heart in her direction. Nicolas was an impenetrable fortress of locked away emotions whose walls she might never be able to breach.

"Bitsy!" Miles called as he came up the stairs.

Daniella was still standing on the second floor landing lost in her jumbled thoughts when he found her. She jumped when he touched her, her bleary eyes gradually focusing on his face.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong with you?" he asked, brushing the tips of his fingers across her pale cheek. "Are you feeling up to this today?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, plastering her most genuine fake smile.

"Bitsy," he murmured, hugging her tightly. "Don't lie to me. _Never_ lie to me."

Daniella leaned heavily against him, putting her arms around his waist. His chest was wide and muscular, warm and comforting. It was like hugging a big teddy bear. In the many years he had been a part of the family, he had always appeared at the right time to offer her a consoling hug. She had ran away from him and her father because the memories held in this house had been too much and their loving gestures of solace had been too painful to accept after the incident. They never knew she blamed herself for everything, for not seeing Romeo for what he was and allowing him to nearly tear the Monroe organization apart. She had been weak and permitted her baby to die because she could not handle the grief over a man who did not deserve her tears. That whole disaster had been her doing and no one else's.

"You've gotten yourself into another bad situation haven't you?" he questioned her in a voice filled with concern - and pity.

Daniella nodded against his chest. If she dared to speak the words out loud, it might burst the dam that was barely holding back her tears of frustration. She was annoyed with herself.

"Hey, suck it up, buttercup. Put on your big girl panties, and do what you gotta do," he told her, cupping her chin with his large hand to turn her face up so he could see it.

Daniella could not be angry with him when she saw the wide grin of amusement on his face. "I do have my big girl panties on. They're red."

His cheeks flooded with color giving him an instantly sunburned appearance. He pulled her to his chest, embracing her tightly. "You're so awful sometimes. But I love you anyway."

"I'm sure glad someone does," she mumbled, squeezing his wide body as tightly as her arms allowed. Him and her father were the only two men who always loved her unconditionally, most often despite herself.

"Hey," he said cheerfully, pulling her back at arm's length to look at her. "I'll take you to the Starlight Cafe tonight. We can eat dinner and share a hot fudge sundae afterward. It will be like old times. It will be good for you to get away from those two bodyguards of yours."

"Can I get the honeyed pecans on top of the sundae?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Of course you can, sweetheart. And you don't have to butter me up to get it either. Stop that unless you have something in your eye," he admonished her playfully.

"All right, it's a date then," she agreed happily.

"A date huh? Won't your boyfriends be jealous?" He laughed when she rolled her eyes and snorted like a grumpy pig.

"Please don't call them that."

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself. We need to go. Everyone is waiting."

Daniella took his hand as they walked down the stairs together. She swung their hands between them as if they were children taking a casual stroll in the park. They walked out of the front door to the half circle driveway where the three cars were parked.

Worick leaned against the lead car, a plain black sedan with tinted bulletproof windows. Her black sports car was pulled in behind it. The windows were tinted but not bulletproof. Miles would be driving the tank; the black, luxury coupe covered in armored panels that was usually reserved for when her father attended meetings of the Four Fathers.

"You're taking a large shipment of Celebrer to the Cristiano's. This shit has become more prized and profitable than cocaine. We are the only suppliers here," her father explained, although she had not asked as to why the extra security was needed. "Others have tried to break into the Celebrer market and failed."

Daniel Monroe pulled the cigarette that had been smoked down to the filter from his lips and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. Daniella could not help but wonder if that was a less than subtle physical representation of what he did to those who attempted to invade the territory he had secured for himself.

"I'm making sure your boy gets his supply," he informed her, nodding his head toward Nicolas who was standing on the other side of her car at the passenger's side. "He'd die without it. He's going to die young anyway. Tags don't have a long life span. One of their own kind usually kills them long before the drug ever does."

Daniella's chest constricted, and breathing became exceedingly difficult. Having grown up in Ergastulum, she was acquainted with Tags and the brevity of their harsh lives. She knew about Celebrer too. Hearing her father speak about it in such a blunt manner had been unsettling. Her eyes met Nicolas's briefly then dropped to the ground. She had chosen to overlook certain truths about him because they hurt too much. Being confronted with them, especially at this given time, had been unexpected.

"Aren't we all in danger of dying before our time? Yours is by choice father. You put a target on your own back because of the dangerous and competitive business you have built into a criminal empire," she said, acid lacing her voice. She took a glimpse at her father then shifted her eyes to Nicolas. "He had no choice in the matter."

"You can be a sharp tongued devil just like your mother," her father commented. "But you're also an incredibly smart woman who has spoken the truth."

"Daddy, I don't think I'll be returning to university," she confessed.

"You know nothing will make me happier than for you to stay. But stay for the right reasons. I can think of two very wrong ones to stay for," he stated in a cautionary, almost accusatory, tone.

Daniella shifted her gaze from one wrong reason with shaggy blond hair to the other wrong reason who was standing with his sheathed katana propped against his shoulder, then turned to look at her father. "I'll be going now."

"Itsy Bitsy, be careful," he said, pulling her into his arms for an embrace. "Come back safely."

"I will. I have three of your best men protecting me," she proclaimed with pride, returning his embrace.

"Take this," he told her, handing her the pistol grip shotgun and a box of ammunition. "You were quite good with this in practice yesterday."

"But you said - "

"Yeah, I worked out a deal. Happy early birthday."

Her birthday was not for another eight months. Christmas would come before her next birthday arrived. Whatever. Daniella gratefully took the gun from him. She had wanted the weapon after firing it yesterday. Having her hands full with a gun in each hand, she held the box of shotgun shells to her body with her arm. Once she got to her car, she leaned in through the open window to prop the shotgun against the console. Reaching under her skirt, she strapped her trusty handgun to its usual place on her thigh.

"Ready?" she asked Nicolas, receiving one quick nod in return. "Let's go."

Daniella dropped into the the driver's seat taking a steadying breath. Her last drop was performed at least seven years ago. She hoped she had not lost her edge. Taking one more glimpse at her father, she could not help but think he was testing her, jumping right back into grooming her to take over the family business.

The road to _The Bastard_ had never seemed so lengthy and desolate. Thankfully, they did not encounter any vehicles. No words passed between her and Nicolas. He would not be able to see her face to read her lips, and she could not take her hands from the wheel to use sign language. They were both too busy keeping a look out for suspicious movement. The car ride became even more tense when they entered the narrow streets of the city. There was no way to make a fast escape should someone decide to lay a trap for them. A vehicle could rush them from one of the numerous side streets, disabling her vehicle by purposely crashing into it. The vehicular bum rush would occur at a super high speed in an extremely confined area which would most likely kill her and Nic making it easier to steal the drugs. Two of their men had died in an incident like that in an ambush orchestrated with the assistance of the two faced Romeo.

The streets of the city had never looked so forbidding. Every person walking by could be an assassin laying in wait. Every car that passed them could be full of rival gang members waiting to shoot them. Despite all of the possible dangers, Daniella did not feel afraid. She had complete confidence in the men around her. She was also self-assured in her own skills with a gun and trusted her instincts. Neither one had failed her. Except once.

"Let it go. God, let it go," she muttered to herself. _Almost there,_ she thought to herself as she turned onto the street where _The Bastard_ was located.

A group of men loitered on the corner at the end of the block. Daniella recognized some of the men as the ones she had seen on the street near Granny Joel's on her first day back in Ergastulum. She identified one of them as the man who had violently pushed the hooker against the wall. They had no reason to be here except to cause trouble. She reached for the shotgun which alerted Nicolas to be ready.

The three cars parked beside the curb directly in front of the den of debauchery that would be empty of customers at this time of day. The working girls would be asleep upstairs in preparation for staying awake all night. Except for a few of the bar employees and Luca Cristiano himself, the bar would be deserted.

Daniella sat in her car until Miles and Worick appeared to stand at the front and back end of her car. They withdrew their guns from the holders under their jackets holding them in clear view as a silent warning to the hoodlums down the street. She reached into the backseat to grab the briefcase that served as an example of the goods. If Luca was satisfied with the shipment, he would send his men out to retrieve the rest that filled her trunk. She grasped the handle of the case so tightly her knuckles grew white. With Miles in front, Nicolas beside her, and Worick behind her, they entered the darkened club. A few small table lamps imparted a light golden glow that led them into the bar. Luca was standing at the bar talking to Galahad about what kind of wine to order.

"Bitsy, my darling god daughter," Luca Cristiano greeted her warmly, giving her a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Uncle Luca," she returned rather formally.

"I'm glad to see you made it here without a problem." He took the briefcase from her, sitting it on the bar. After opening it, he pulled out a little brown plastic bottle with a white cap that looked like a normal prescription bottle from a pharmacy and tossed it to Galahad. "Here. I know you have been out of your medication for three days. Take it."

"You can take the money from my next paycheck, boss. Thanks." Galahad opened the bottle pouring several of the pills into his palm without counting them. He tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them dry while pouring himself a shot of vodka.

"Don't worry about it. You're one of the greatest assets I have. You need to take better care of yourself," he kindly chastised the young man. He turned his attention to Daniella. "Did you come across any unsavory characters?"

"There's some trash at the end of the street that should be cleaned up," she advised him, taking the glass of cherry coke from Galahad. "You remembered. Thank you."

"You don't seem like the kind of lady who would want a drink this early in the day," he returned, grinning at her.

"Galahad, would you like to have a workout? It's been a while hasn't it?" Luca inquired, reaching across the bar for the vodka and a short tumbler.

"Sure has been a while, boss. I'd welcome a workout," he said, drying his hands on a small bar towel. He took off his long white apron and laid it over the bar, winking at Daniella. "Hang on to that for me, would you?"

"Sure thing, big boy," she returned, returning his smile. Turning around on the bar stool, she was stunned to see the angry. jealous blue eye fixed on her face. Tilting her chin at a haughty angle, she took a swig of her drink to diminish the dryness from her throat. "Worick, take Nic and help Galahad out. With the three of you, it should be an even fight."

"But there's nine of them," Worick protested, his eye narrowing as his anger flared. "How is that even?"

"Because I have faith in you," she said, sliding from the bar stool to sidle over to him. She placed her hand against his cheek, standing on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "You two can handle this. I want my father to know what you two are really capable of." She kissed his cheek, hearing his sudden intake of air. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"Yes, ma'am," he responded dutifully, waving to Nicolas to come with him.

Nicolas paused momentarily as he stood in front of her, fixing his eyes on her with a cold glare. Daniella dropped her eyes to the floor to avoid looking into his. When she thought he was going to pass by her without saying or doing anything, she felt his warm hand enclose hers that hung limply at her side. After giving it a gentle squeeze, he walked away without a word to follow Worick. She smiled. Actions really did speak louder than words - especially for him.

"Should I go with them?" Miles inquired, putting his hand on her shoulder as she stared at the empty air they had left in their wake.

"No. I want you to stay right here." Daniella immediately became aware of the tension in her shoulder when he squeezed it. Her stomach twisted into knots of apprehension. She had not wanted to send them out, but it was a part of good customer service and a common courtesy among business partners in their chosen professions. She also knew it was important to show a unified front with a comrade when facing a foe that could endanger them both. It always helped to gather favors from friends that would inevitably prove to be useful in the future. She would also like to know exactly what her boys were capable of accomplishing.

So they waited. Minutes passed by with only the ticking of the clock on the wall and ice cubes clinking in their glasses to fill the otherwise noiseless void. When Miles went to the door to look outside, she did not stop him. Neither did she get up to go see what was going on for herself. She started as if she had been shot when a gunshot went off followed by two more in rapid succession. It had sounded like harmless pops from a firecracker, but she knew better. She set her glass down on the bar before she dropped it from her trembling hands.

"Do you need this?" Luca extended the bottle of vodka to her.

"No. I'm fine." She poked at the melting ice cubes in her glass with her straw.

"I'm impressed, Daniella. I believe you've become the woman your father always wanted you to be."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Neither am I."

The silence extended between them once more. The front door opened with a squeak, breaking the silence. Daniella hopped from her bar stool and ran to the foyer.

The three brawlers walked inside as if they were conquering soldiers returning from a battle. Their clothes were spattered with blood and tiny red dots were sprinkled across their faces which had incurred minor injuries of bruises and cuts. Their fists were scraped and caked with blood. Nicolas held his katana pointed toward the floor creating a trail of blood droplets as he made his way into the bar.

Daniella visibly deflated with relief, allowing her chin to drop forward to her chest and her taut shoulders to release and fold inward. She murmured to herself, "They're all right. I'm so proud."

"I'll have some of my guys dispose of the trash for you boys. Good job. I'll buy you a drink for your troubles," Luca offered, going behind the bar to serve the drinks himself. "Bitsy! You want that drink now? I'll make you something light. How about a Cosmopolitan? It's got cranberry juice in it. That makes it good for you right?"

"Yeah, sure. We'll go with that."

Daniella sat down between Nicolas and Worick at the table where they had all gathered. She raised the drink to her mouth, not even tasting it as it passed her lips. The sting of the alcohol was unmistakable though. Good for her huh? She mindlessly stirred the red liquid with the tiny plastic sword that skewered a cherry. Alcohol was like poison but a type that went down so easy and people drank willingly without a second thought. Glimpsing at the young men sitting on either side of her out of the corners of her eyes, she realized she liked poisons of all kinds. She finished off her drink, reveling in the warmth that filled her belly and started to radiate throughout her body. Everything was better with a little drop of poison despite the fact it might just kill you.


	8. Chapter 8

Daniella climbed up the stairs leading out onto the roof of the mansion. The hatch was open enabling her to rise unimpeded to the platform. A table set for dinner had been placed in a corner on the large flat part of the roof. A platform like this was once called a widow's walk. They had been built on top of seaside houses in the late eighteenth century so women could wait and watch for their husband's ships returning from long ocean journeys. It became known as a widow's walk due to so many women losing their husbands at sea from storms, pirates, or disease. Since there was no water for miles around the Monroe mansion, the widow's walk was actually a sniper's vantage point for when the family home came under attack. In her lifetime, the lookout had only been used as a sniper's nest twice. Long ago, to her and Miles at least, it had become the Starlight Cafe - the one place they could escape the worries of their violent world while enjoying a meal together with the beauty of the night sky displayed above them.

At first the dining arrangement had been simple involving a blanket and a filled picnic basket. Daniella started out all by herself, retreating to the roof to be alone while eating one of Eddie's gourmet dinners with the stars as her company. She had wanted to be free from every reminder of her life. She needed an escape from everything and everyone connected to the life of organized crime and its fetters, including the armed men that worked for her father despite them being like family. On those nights, she wanted to be alone, to gain perspective of the world and her place in it. Looking up at the vast sky filled with innumerable stars, comets, and planets, she was reminded that she was just one of many millions of beings on this tiny blue planet called Earth. Daniella Monroe was nothing special, noone unique. She was no more or less important because she was the daughter of a big crime kingpin in Ergastulum. It was a humbling experience to be reminded of ones own insignificance. The blatant reminder did her good by keeping her ego in check because she was no longer the cherished princess, the empress to be, of the Monroe Family.

One night Miles had followed her, by her father's urging of course, to see where she mysteriously disappeared to for hours on end. Miles Mayer had been working for her father for about six months at that time and had been officially saddled with the task of monitoring her coming and going. He was to stay close by her just in case of whatever. A bodyguard, a human shield, a companion, a babysitter. The job was called many things by the men of the organization. He had performed pretty much the same duties that Worick and Nicolas shared now, but had not been nearly so intimate and hands on as the present bodyguards because she was only a child back then.

Miles had not minded his job though the others teased him about it mercilessly. That night he felt like a creepy stalker following her through the attic and up to the roof. To his amazement, she had not been startled by his sudden appearance on her rooftop hideaway. It was if she had expected him. Maybe she had. The girl exhibited a perceptiveness beyond her years that bordered on clairvoyance which, although they would never admit it, frightened some of the more superstitious men. She did not frighten him. He could see she was nothing more than a lonely, scared, spoiled child which filled him with the desire to take care of her. Without a word, Daniella had shifted over to one side of the blanket in a silent invitation for him to take a seat beside her. Once he was lying down on his back, looking up at the twinkling dots of white light above him, she began pointing out and naming the constellations. It was then he decided to buy her a telescope for her next birthday, her fifteenth birthday, which was only a few months away.

On that birthday, Miles had a table brought up to the rooftop complete with candles and flowers. He set up the telescope and waited for her to arrive. She had been so excited to see the telescope, completely forgetting about the special dinner which had been served by Eddie himself. For hours she gazed through the lens at the stars until she started getting a headache from constantly squinting one eye. Her rumbling tummy also reminded her that she had not eaten a morsel of her dinner. Neither had her companion. He had waited for her, patiently showing her how to focus and move the telescope to see different parts of the sky. She and Miles had taken their plates full of cold food down to the kitchen to warm them up. They had sat at one of the big steel prep tables to eat. It had been a glorious night. That was the last happy birthday she experienced before the arrival of Romeo into their lives.

In the present, Daniella approached the telescope that had been set up on the roof once again after gathering dust in the attic for years along with forgotten furniture and other relics of the past. She patted Miles on the arm to show her appreciation when passing him to stand beside the telescope.

"You remembered," Daniella murmured, giving him a smile before lowering her head to look through the lens.

"Some things you never forget," Miles mumbled in return, picking up his glass of wine to take a sip. "I figured you would be visiting your special place soon."

"Our special place," she corrected him, straightening up from her hunched over position.

"It was always yours. You just allowed me to visit, to come into your private world occasionally," he said, swirling the wine in his glass in the manner of a snobby wine connoisseur.

"You always have been an incredibly thoughtful man," she remarked, moving to stand next to him. She threaded her arm through his, laying her head against his thickly muscled bicep. "I never minded you coming here. You have always been a peaceful presence in my life. A rock. A shelter. Thank you."

She closed her eyes, lifting her chin slightly to allow the wind to graze her cheeks and blow through her loose hair. The wind ruffled her flowing black skirt around her ankles. The night was hot and the breeze was warm. The red tank top she wore was sticking to her lower back where sweat had soaked through the material. Something was blowing in, and it was not going to be good.

"There's a storm coming," Miles proclaimed as if reading her mind.

"Do you mean that literally or figuratively?" she inquired, looking up at him.

"I'm hoping literally only. You know how it is here during the summer. The heat builds up then a cold wind blows in from somewhere creating a thunderstorm so severe we begin to wonder if it its the end of the world." He tilted his chin down to look at her. "Hungry?"

"Starving," she replied, holding onto his arm so he could lead her to the table. After letting go of his arm, he pulled out her chair for her. She curtsied as if she were royalty while laughing lightly. She sat with her hands folded in her lap while he lifted the metal dome that covered her plate.

"Little Miss, your dinner is served," he announced with a flourish of his arm before bowing to her in the most exaggerated way.

"You're so silly," she giggled, unfolding her napkin to place it in her lap.

Eddie had prepared a weather appropriate dinner consisting of a trio of cold salads. Chicken salad scooped on top of a mixed greens salad, a pasta salad full of vegetables, and a fruit salad for dessert. He always took into consideration the seasons and weather when cooking. The man's innate talent for flavor profiles was amazing. This would be a fabulously refreshing and light dinner for such a hot summer night. The air was growing thicker, the humidity increasing. The storm would begin soon.

"We do know a thing or two about figurative storms in our lives, don't we?" she commented offhandedly, stabbing a round, dark blueberry with her fork.

"Should we prepare for another one?" Miles questioned her bluntly, raising a blond eyebrow as he stared at her over his glass full of Pinot Grigio.

"I don't know what you mean." Her fork skewered a chunk of chicken and a purple leaf of lettuce next. She avoided looking at him by feigning great interest in the food, although her appetite had waned considerably due to the meaning behind his question.

"The hell you don't. Now is not the time to be coy, Daniella. Be honest with me. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into with those two bodyguards of yours?" he demanded, noisily poking at his food. He stabbed a piece of chicken so forcefully the tines banged against the china before scraping across the plate with a sound that set their teeth on edge. Dropping the fork with a clatter, he launched into a speech that was like one her father would give her. "I told your father it was a mistake to indulge your whim of hiring those two. You can't collect people like they're stray dogs and just bring all of them home. Daniella, you can't keep falling in love with men like this!"

"Eddie's gonna be pissed if you break one of the plates from his favorite china collection," she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"Goddammit, Daniella, I'm being serious!" He stood to his feet, slamming his fists down on the table with enough strength to make the glasses jump and nearly topple over. "What kind of trouble are you in?"

Daniella lifted her eyes to meet his. She had only seen him angry like this on rare occasions and never with her. His usually kind, light blue eyes were darkened and narrowed with rage. He was genuinely and thoroughly pissed with her. She could tell by the menacing mask of anger on his face that he had reached the point of being completely done with her bullshit. Her body trembled in fear and shame. Her throat pinched closed to hold back tears. She picked up her bottle of water, forgoing pouring it into the dainty wine glass, to guzzle half of the remaining contents.

"Not _that_ kind of trouble. Neither one of them has laid a hand on me," Daniella informed him, becoming a bit livid herself. _How dare you, Miles Mayer. They haven't touched me in they way you're thinking,_ she groused in silence, leaving the words unspoken. There had been hints and allegations, embraces and kisses, but no sexual intercourse. "I've just got myself into a bit of an emotional tangle. That's all. No big deal."

"No big deal, huh? I would have rather you fucked one of them than fallen in love with both of them," he grumbled with shocking candor.

Daniella turned her head to the side so she would not spit the water in his face when she spewed it out before commencing to choke on it.

"Really? Are you being serious right now?" she coughed, wheezing for air. Once she regained the ability to breathe, she shouted indignantly, "How could you say something like that?!"

"It would have been better for you to have meaningless sex with one or both of them, hell, it doesn't matter, than to have let your heart get involved. Jesus Christ, Daniella!" he exclaimed, raking his fingers through his flawlessly gelled hair. "I've seen what happens when your heart is broken. When you finally feel something, you feel it too damn deeply. You give the person that you love the power to destroy you. You're self-destructive, and it terrifies me. I can't..." He paused, hanging his head. His shoulders collapsed inward as if he had been deflated physically mimicking his emotional state. "I can't watch you go through it again. I just can't. It's unfair of you to ask me to stand by, waiting to pick up the pieces when its all over."

"I never asked you to do that the first time, Miles, and I certainly wouldn't ask you to do it again," she murmured, staring at the fancy design etched onto the end of her fork as she twisted it in her fingers. Her vision wavered and blurred as tears coated her eyeballs.

"Goddammit, Daniella," he whispered, his voice shuddering as if he were about to cry too. "Damn you. I won't do it again. I won't stand by and wait for you to implode. I'm sorry."

Miles headed for the hatch. As far as he was concerned, the argument was over, and there was no sense in belaboring the point. She would not listen anyway.

"Miles," she murmured, slowly getting to her feet. She walked up behind him, putting her arms around his waist. Although he froze in his tracks, his body stiffened in her arms clearly demonstrating that he was not receptive of her embrace. She continued to hang onto him anyway. "I know what I'm doing. I won't let them hurt me."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," he muttered acerbically, peeling her arms from around his body. "Besides, I think it's too late. You've already set yourself up for a tragedy. I love you, Juliet, make no mistake about it, but I won't watch you do this to yourself."

Daniella gasped in surprise at his less than veiled and mightily cruel reference to Romeo from her past. The statement physically pained her as if he had thrust a dagger into her heart. She stumbled backwards on her wobbly knees. Her lower back came into agonizing contact with the round metal bar that surrounded the widow's walk. Thank goodness her father had the safety rail installed when she made it a habit of coming up here. She covered her face with her hands expecting an onslaught of tears. None came. Miles had hurt her so deeply that she was too numb to cry about it. Wow. And to think she had thought nothing could be more devastating than the heartaches she had already endured.

Wrapping her arms around her body to comfort herself, Daniella shivered despite the balmy night air that whipped around her scattering her hair in all directions as if she had transformed into a hideous monster. A monster like Medusa. She had a tendency to turn the hearts of men around her, the men who loved her, into stone. Maybe she was being a selfish bitch because she could not love Miles like he wanted her to love him. But he had been like an adopted big brother, sometimes like a father, and he had always been her source of solace. She could not fathom him being her lover and husband. And she had tried. Miles was a good man - no, a great man - and she knew he would take care of her heart, mind, and body. He would do everything humanly possible to make her happy. But she just couldn't see him that way. She couldn't be his wife because it would be unfair to him. He deserved better. Better than her.

"What am I doing? Why do I keep hurting the men I love?" she murmured, turning to stare blindly into the darker than black night. Clouds had gathered to shut out the light of the stars and moon. She asked the clouds that were as heavy and dark as her heart, "Why can't I stop?"

Her chest ached. Her heart beat slow but hard, slamming into her sternum as if to break through. That fickle heart might as well flee because it was of no use to her anyway. The pent up emotions she would not allow herself to feel, swirled in the pit of her stomach like a tornado, making her nauseous. For the second time today, she had angered a man in her life enough that he shunned her and walked away.

Distracted by her racing thoughts, she did not sense the presence of the man near her until he touched her shoulder. She screamed and jumped, spinning around. She lost her balance and toppled backwards, her back hitting the rail again. Unfortunately, this time it did not stop her fall. The momentum from her powerful jerk away the person who had startled her bent her body backwards over the thing meant to save her. A searing bolt of pain surged up her spine that bent at an angle a little too severe for the direction in which backs are not meant to bend. Her body arced over the railing before gravity took its toll and pulled her body down.

 _So this is how my life ends. I will die because I'm a jumpy, clumsy idiot,_ she thought to herself. Closing her eyes, resigned to her fate of taking the lethal fall, she relaxed into the g-forces working on her body. Then a set of large hands grasped her wrists. The backs of her knees skimmed the cold metal rail, and her legs bent to hold onto it, to stop her from immediately falling. The fingers clenched around her wrists so tightly that she feared they would break the bones that ground together in the most torturous way. Her eyes popped open and she jerked her chin down to her chest so that she could look up. A pair of glossy black eyes, like those of a raven, held hers.

"Nicky! Save me!" she screamed despite the fact he could not hear her shrieking.

Nicolas gritted his teeth, pulling with all of his might in an effort to bring her back over the railing. More than half of her body was hanging down making it difficult to pull her up. His feet slid across the wooden platform with a scraping sound like sandpaper being dragged across gravel. He squeezed her wrists tighter, throwing his head back and attempting to use his own body weight to counteract the gravitational forces hell bent to do their job and draw her body to the earth below. A snort and bellow like that of an angry bull ready to charge a matador launched from his open mouth. The arteries and veins rose to the surface of his neck and arms as he continued to strain to yank her to safety.

Tightening the muscles in her abdomen, feeling the burning strain in the muscles of her neck, Daniella thrust her torso upward. Coupled with the force he was using, it was enough to swing her body up and over the bar to safety. She crashed into his chest, pushing him over since his balance was offset. They fell together, landing in a miserable heap that knocked the breath out of both of them. They both lay panting and shaking in each others arms trying to catch their breath and gather their wits.

Nicolas pushed her to a sitting position with his hands on her shoulders. He got onto his knees, taking a little extra time to catch his breath before standing. Reaching down, he took the hand she raised up to him to snatch her upwards into a standing position. Her body collided into his when she limply lurched forward, and his arms enclosed her waist to hold her against him. She was like a rag doll in his arms. Lifeless and unable to stand on her own. Moron. She could have gotten herself killed. What in the hell was she doing up here anyway? He had passed Miles on the stairs on the way up to her bedroom. He had never seen the usually calm and unflappable man so angry.

When Nicolas could not find Daniella holed up in her bedroom like he expected, he immediately began to search for her. A draft rushing down the third story hall had alerted him that there was a window or something open somewhere. Following the flow of air led him to the attic door at the end of the hall which in turn gave him a path through the attic to the hatch. He found her standing at the railing, quiet but obviously upset. The idea had occurred to him that she might be intending to jump to commit suicide. A coldness had swept over him. An emotion he had never felt before seized his heart and squeezed it as if it meant to stop it from beating. Fear. He had never experienced real fear before. He had come close when he believed Worick was going to die after having his eye burned out of his head, but this had been different. The fear tonight had been more intense and all encompassing. The frigid, disturbing emotion had saturated every fiber of his being, immobilizing him momentarily. Then...then he had scared the hell out of her and almost killed her himself.

A white zigzagging line cut through the burgeoning black clouds, lighting up the night in an explosion of blue white light. Thunder rumbled ominously. Big wet drops splashed all around them with a plopping sound. The storm had arrived.

Nicolas bent his knees to pick up the half conscious woman in a bridal carry. He carried her down the steps, laying her on the cloth covered couch nearby being careful not to stir up the dust that coated the sheet. After closing the hatch to shut out the rain, he knelt down beside the couch sliding one arm under knees and the other under her shoulders to lift her straight up. He could feel the gritty dust coating her clothes and scrubbing against his arms that held her. The stench of sweat made rancid by fear filled his nose making him grimace in disgust. Whether the awful smell was coming from him or her did not matter. They would both need a shower. If only she was not out cold. Dammit.

Nicolas walked through the door of her bedroom that he had left open, taking her straight to the bathroom. He lay her on the sea green oval rug on the floor, cradling the back of her head in one of his hands to cautiously lowered it onto the fuzzy surface. After flipping the handle for the hot water all the way to full blast, he knelt down beside Daniella who did not move. He patted her cheek in an attempt to rouse her. When that did not work, he pulled her to a sitting position shaking her but all to no avail. She would not wake up. Maybe he should have turned on the cold water and stuck her under it. Standing up with his arms around her waist to hold her securely, he dragged her to shower stall. Reaching inside, he turned off the hot water and turned on the cold. He kicked off his boots but did not bother to undress either of them before he stumbled into the shower. When the icy water hit his back like pellets of ice, his teeth gnashed together with enough force his jaw ached, and he was suspicious he chipped a premolar. The water soaked through his clothes, freezing his skin. He leaned back so the stream of water would bounce off his chest and splash her face. His planned worked fantastically. She screamed and started flailing her arms when she instantly regained consciousness.

"Oh, my god! Oh, my god!" she shrieked, pushing her hands at the cold water spattering her face. "Hot water! Hot water, please!"

Nicolas reached behind himself with one arm to turn the handles to change the temperature of the water. The water gradually began to warm and the panicked woman in his arms ceased flapping and flopping around.

Daniella stepped back from him. She reached down to grasp the bottom of her shirt, preparing to take it off. Nic's strong fingers took hold of her arm, preventing her from raising the shirt. When she looked at him questioningly, he shook his head.

"Nic, we need to take off our clothes. It's okay," she assured him.

 _Is it?,_ he signed to her, his lips dropping into an irate frown. ' _You are a woman. I am a man. Seeing you naked would make me -'_ His frantic hand movements halted as a light pink blush tinted his golden brown cheeks. _'Seeing you naked would make me feel things. Want to do things.'_

"Would that be so bad? Is the thought of being that close to me, of making love to me, so revolting?" she questioned, shrinking away from him to huddle against the back wall of the shower. Her body quivered as she waited for him to do or say something. When he did neither, she made eye contact with him which was extremely difficult to do at the moment in her humiliation. However, she wanted his attention so he would 'hear' her words. "Nicky, get out. Please, just get out. Leave me alone."

"No. I won't," he rejoined aloud. He reached down to pull off his black tank top that was plastered to his body as if glued there by the water. It got stuck, refusing to budge, when he attempted to pull it over his head.

Daniella stepped toward him, grasping handfuls of the material on the front and back assisting him with removing the drenched shirt. She dropped the water logged cloth onto the floor of the stall behind her. When she tugged at her shirt to remove it, she felt his fingers graze her belly and the small of her back to help her in the same way. She was not wearing a bra but his hands did not wander and neither did his eyes. His eyes remained locked on hers as they took off their clothes from the waist down. Everything was tossed into the pile in shower to keep from soaking the floor. The clothes would be dealt with later.

Daniella picked up the bar of soap rubbing it in her hands to create a lather. She set it back down on the metal holder imbedded in the wall. Pressing her hands to his chest, she worked the bubbly foam across his pecs and down his arms. Her fingers glided back up his arms and over his pectorals, then down his belly. She stopped at his waist, sliding her hands around to his back. Her breasts flattened to his solid chest as she embraced him and washed his back at the same time. Withdrawing her arms from around him, she took a step back to see that he had closed his eyes tightly. He was just too sweet. Too honorable. Much more so than anyone gave him credit for being. She smiled and turned her back to him. Picking up the soap again, she commenced to washing herself.

Daniella's smile broadened when his fingers tangled themselves into her hair. The aroma of her vanilla scented shampoo filled the air around her. The vanilla mingled with the lavender soap for a blissfully calming atmosphere, soothing her jangled nerves as the glorious fragrance tickled her nose. She moaned in appreciation while his fingers massaged her scalp. Once he had worked the shampoo through her hair, she was further treated to the most pleasant rinse she had ever received. She patiently stood in front of him as he scooped up the water a handful at the time to pour it over her head. Such a sublime moment that lasted until every bubble was washed out of her hair. Her knees were reduced to gelatin by his gentleness causing her to have to prop her body against the wall to hold herself up.

After a few minutes passed while he washed his hair, Daniella found the strength to step out of the shower on her own. She pulled a fluffy white towel from the rack, wrapping it around her body. Without bothering to dry off, she went to lie down on her bed before her body had the chance to betray her and send her crashing to the floor. Rolling onto her side, she drew her knees toward her chest to curl up into a fetal position. Although the tears still lurked at the corners of her eyes threatening to fall, she was too tired to cry. Or so she thought.

A low mewling sound like the pitiful cry of an abandoned kitten caught her attention. It took a little while for her to realize the sound was coming from her. The pillow under cheek grew damp with her tears absorbing into cotton fabric. There was a ticklish touch on her shoulder like a feather gliding across her skin. Opening her bleary eyes, she could only see the fuzzy outline of Nicolas. She opened her mouth to speak, to request that he lie down next to her. The words would not come. Somehow he seemed to understand and lay down on his side facing her. His chest was bare, shiny, and slick with water. The towel surrounding his waist had been folded securely so that it did fall off when he scooted closer to her until he was almost nose to nose with her.

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered, his face gradually coming into focus in the muted light imparted by her lamp.

The soft glow created a halo around his body, the light glinting off of his damp light brown skin. Her eyes closed, and she released a weary sigh. Their bodies were in such close proximity that she could feel the heat coiling from his body to sink into her chilled skin. Another, much softer sigh, pushed through her slightly parted lips when his fingertips brushed across her cheek. The touch of his calloused fingers was soothing. His fingers drifted lightly over her cheeks, across her forehead, and down her neck whisking away the tension that had tightened the muscles of her face into a pained expression. The muscles started to unwind throughout her body when his big warm hand slid down her arm, skimming over her hip to the small of her back then gliding up to her neck. He had such nice hands. She liked the way they felt on her body and not necessarily in a sexual manner. At the moment they were weaving a magic spell of tranquility by taking away all of the stress and replacing the negative emotions with warm fuzzy feelings that made her pulse race. People, even his best friend Worick, had told her was incapable of such tender kindness. Yet here he was, the stoic, unfeeling man, lavishing her with his affection. She didn't deserve it, but she wanted it - and needed it.

"Nicky, stay with me, please," she begged, grasping his hand as he was about to move to leave her side. Keeping her eyes closed, she waited for an answer. She took it as a positive signal when he made no further advancement to the edge of the bed.

"I'll stay," he returned, speaking since she was not looking at him.

"Please, kiss me goodnight."

Daniella held her breath when his silky lips, wet from just being licked, pressed to hers. She expected a modest kiss to send her off to dreamland. He did not disappoint. The pressure of his mouth was easy, teasing, giving her lips the promise of a kiss more so than delivering one. Then he kissed her cheek ever so lightly. Her fingers curled into the satiny material of the comforter underneath her. To her great astonishment and delight, he continued to kiss her. He dotted affectionate little pecks to her forehead, her eyelids, her other cheek, her chin. He covered every inch of her face with a loving kiss from his beautiful mouth.

They were wrong - ALL of them - about him. Although he did not show it, he felt a lot, and he felt it profoundly. Under the right circumstances he was willing to express those feelings with actions. When he planted a kiss under her chin, Daniella inhaled sharply. A warm burst of arousal struck her, spreading like hot oil, gradually and thickly, through her lower belly and thighs. Oh, god. He had to stop. If he didn't, certain things would happen. The things he hinted at earlier in the shower. His loving, comforting gestures had transformed from innocent and consoling to erotic and stimulating.

"Nicky," she breathed, feeling her vocal chords vibrating against his lips that were pressed to the area over her voice box. Her eyes opened when his mouth lifted from her throat. He lay his head down on the pillow beside hers, holding her gaze with his desire softened eyes. "Don't leave me."

"I won't," he responded, pulling her head down to his chest.

Daniella draped her arm over his waist, listening to the steady cadence of his heart as it pulsed under her cheek. She sighed for the third time, completely releasing every last ounce of stress, every bad feeling or thought that attempted to cling her to mind.

Thunder boomed reminding them of the storm outside. Both of them had forgotten about the tumultuous weather because they were too busy trying to tame the turmoil within themselves and each other.

 _Which one? Which man will you love and which one will you hurt? Which man will you hold dear to your heart to cruelly toss away the other like yesterday's trash?,_ a malevolent voice from somewhere inside of her head taunted her cruelly.

 _I won't do that!,_ she screamed back internally at the spiteful accusation.

 _Oh, but you must and you will! Don't be deceived! You will hurt them...and yourself._

"No," Daniella moaned pitifully, pressing her face tighter against Nic's chest. Her arm tightened around his waist to hold him more securely as if he were going to be snatched away from her. When his fingers started combing through her hair, she became drowsy. Soon he put her to sleep by stroking her head. She drifted into a world of dreams and peace where no one got hurt, no one died, and everyone was happy.


	9. Chapter 9

There is a lemon in this chapter. Thought I should put a warning out there for those who might not be interested in that.

* * *

Daniella woke up alone which did not come as a shock to her. Her eyes remained closed as she lay in the bed listening to the birds outside of her window. The occasional pop of distant gunfire caught her attention. They must be doing skeet shooting today to practice hitting a moving target. She wondered where Nic could be right now. Maybe he was practicing with one of the few swordsmen in the organization. Since the sun was shining brightly, he had probably been awake for hours so there was no telling where he might be or what he might be doing.

There was a faint knock at her door before it opened. Daniella did not budge instead choosing to pretend to be asleep in hopes the person would leave quickly. There came a distinct sound of the clank of china on a silver tray. The enticing scent of coffee wafted to her nose beckoning her to stop playing possum. She stubbornly refused, pulling the blanket around her tighter and rolling over onto opposite side. Her pink blanket was securely wrapped around her body to hide her nakedness.

Eddie must have sent one of his kitchen helpers up with a tray for her. He always took such good care of her. She did not want to get out of bed today. Staying within the confines of the four walls of her bedroom in solitude would suit her fine. Besides, she doubted she would be good company because her attitude would be a bit sour to say the least. She heard the tray being sat down on the bedside table and eagerly anticipated the retreat of the individual.

The delicate touch of a hand on her shoulder startled her causing her to cry out in surprise. Immediately she became enraged that someone would dare to disturb her. Coming to a sitting a position while twisting around to face the person, Daniella was prepared to yell at whoever had intruded on her. Her annoyance instantly evaporated upon seeing Nicolas standing next to her bed. She smiled when he signed 'good morning' to her, then she returned the gestures.

 _"How are you feeling?"_ he asked her using his hands.

 _"Okay,"_ she replied in kind. She never imagined she would prefer communicating without words but at the moment she found it preferable.

Scooting over to the edge of the bed while holding the blanket around her with one hand, she poured herself a cup of coffee to ease the pounding in her temples. The beginning of a caffeine withdrawal headache was setting in so she wanted to ward it off as quickly as possible. To show her gratitude, she touched the tips of her fingers to her chin below her lip and moved her hand outward toward him with the back of her hand facing him.

 _"You're getting really good at this. You've learned a lot,"_ he complimented her.

"It's important to me to learn to communicate with you," she explained using her voice so he had to read her lips. She had not learned quite that much yet.

Daniella leaned against the headboard to sip her coffee expecting Nicolas to leave. Instead he gave her a pleasant treat by sitting down beside her close to her feet. For the first time she noticed that his hair was damp as if he had just gotten out of the shower. He was wearing his usual outfit of black tank top and black cargo pants. His feet were bare and tucked under his legs as he sat cross legged facing her.

"Would you like to practice sign language now?" Nicolas asked her aloud since she was looking down into her coffee cup.

Daniella shook her head, giving him a sad little smile. "I don't really feel like it. I don't really feel like talking, but would you..." She ceased speaking, nervously running her finger around the gold edge while staring at the bottom of her empty cup. Her eyes moved to his before she finished her query. "Would you stay with me? For just a little while. I won't keep you long."

Nicolas nodded, allowing the corners of his mouth to turn upwards the tiniest bit. "You can keep me as long as you like."

The muscles in her stomach tightened and her heart thumped powerfully against her rib cage. There was something incredibly pleasant about being near him, enjoying the flawless silence that managed to avoid being awkward in the least. She found his presence calming, relieving the inner turmoil that plagued her. Pouring herself a second cup of coffee, she imbibed her favorite drink while reveling in the glorious quiet they shared.

"You should eat something," he encouraged her, breaking the silence when she continued to ignore the food on the tray. He picked up the bowl of yogurt sprinkled with granola holding it out to her on his flat palm.

"No. I'd rather not," she replied, pushing his hand away. There was enough coffee in the pretty china coffee carafe for a third and final cup. That was all she needed.

"Please," he begged, scooping up a spoonful of the food to offer it to her.

"Oh, all right," she murmured, opening her mouth for him to feed her.

Nicolas patiently fed her the entire contents of the bowl before moving on to the dish of fruit cut into bit size chunks. He astonished her by once again hand feeding her every morsel without fussing at her to do it herself.

"Would you like to go shopping? We can go back to the bookstore. I liked the food at the diner. And what about the shop that had the leather underwear?" he suggested, eliciting a smile of sincere amusement from her.

"Nicky, you're so sweet, but no. I'd really rather not," she murmured, pressing her palm to his cheek.

"I like being close to you," he confessed, catching her unawares. "I want to be closer."

"What?" she gasped, not sure she had heard him correctly. Although his voice could be difficult to understand, his message had come across in spoken words loud and clear.

Daniella held her breath when his mesmerizing dark eyes drilled into hers. She started to breathe again when he leaned forward placing his palms on the bed on either side of her legs. Concentrating on her breaths, keeping them long and slow, the excitement rose inside of her as he moved to straddle her legs on his knees. Air pushed past her lips in a sound akin to a whimper when he hovered above her continuing to hold her eyes captive with his.

Intense emotions rose from their dark depths to the surface of his ebony irises, conveying his feelings to her with stunning clarity. He wanted her, and he intended to have her. The soothing tenderness of the moment they had shared earlier had been replaced by an encompassing sense of urgency. A passionate yearning had taken hold of both of them. Her eyelids gradually lowered when one of his large hands firmly gripped the back of her neck to hold her still while he lowered his mouth to hers.

Nicolas's lips touched hers, exuding a mild pressure with an undercurrent of dominance that made it clear he was holding back. Last night he had not made love to her. He had kissed her tears away and held her until she stopped crying. Nicolas had consoled her, placating the emotional storm that had threatened to destroy her. Last night he had soothed away the pain. But today, he wanted to fulfill the longing between them, to comfort them both.

Daniella had intended on staying in bed to ruminate in her misery, indulging in a good old-fashioned pity party. He was not going to allow her to do it. He had plans of his own to awaken something within her, to make her love him freely and sincerely - and allow himself to explore his own emotions more fully.

Daniella's plaintive moan was stifled by his tongue pushing into her mouth through the small opening between her lips. A warm tingle started at the base of her spine and wiggled it's way upward when he moved his tongue in and out, mimicking the movements of intercourse. Sweat beaded on her forehead and across her upper lip. The fire he kindled inside of her was swiftly becoming a raging inferno that threatened to consume the both of them. Her hands slipped under the edge of his shirt, gliding over his hard ridged abdomen making her belly clinch with the craving for him. When his mouth lifted from hers, she gazed up at him to see that his eyes were heavily lidded, glassy with arousal and unable to focus as he looked down at her.

"Nic...Nicky...please," she mumbled, her hands moving over his pecs. She bit her lower lip as his nipples drew to hard little peaks under her palms. His eyes closed, and he opened his mouth to emit an animalistic groan that came from deep in his throat. When his eyes opened to latch onto her face once more, she implored, "Oh, god, Nicky, please. I need you."

Daniella studied him when he sat up straight, kneeling over her thighs. She pushed up his shirt coming eye level with his barely indented belly button. Her lips pressed to the smooth, brown sugar colored skin above his navel. She sighed when his strong fingers massaged her neck while she made a ring of kisses around his belly button. Her fingers went to his belt, sliding back the metal closure to allow the thick cotton webbed belt to pass through rectangular brass buckle. His fingers tangled into her hair with each subsequent kiss she placed on his flat abdomen while she unbuttoned each of the three plastic buttons on the fly of his pants.

The kissing ceased when he pulled her hair slightly, tilting her head upwards for her to look at his face. Her hands continued to move over his body. One hand massaged his erection under his pants, and the other hand cupped his balls and squeezed them lightly through the cotton fabric. Every muscle in her body tightened in unison when his head dropped back and he opened his mouth to moan long and loud. Breathing in shallow, raspy breaths, she gasped when he pressed his hand over hers that covered his swollen, pulsating manhood. She chewed her lower lip to withhold a groan of unadulterated lust when he encouraged her to rub him more. His low, guttural moans of satisfaction stimulated her until she endured a heaviness in the lower part of her belly and an uncomfortable throbbing deep inside.

"I want to touch you too," he said, taking her hands away from him.

Daniella leaned back, closing her eyes to savor the sensation of the soft blanket sliding against her skin as he removed it from around her body. A sigh of contentment was pushed from her lungs when he lay down on top of her, his bare chest flattening her breasts between their bodies. She accepted his kiss with eager lips, returning it with fervor. Her hands moved over his back, feeling the flexing of each muscle when he eased down a bit so his teeth could nip the sensitive skin of her neck.

Dropping kisses one after the other down her neck to her chest, Nicolas descended to discover more of her. His body skimmed across hers easily due to the sweat covering both of them. Her fingers found their way into his short hair, gliding through the longer part on top before clutching handfuls when his tongue circled the nipple of her right breast. She enclosed his thin but muscular body with her legs to hold him firmly against her when his lips encapsulated the stimulated flesh to suck lightly. When his tongue lapped over the nipple, she arched her back and moaned loudly. His hand pressed to her throat so he could feel her vocalizations while he continued to taste her breasts with his lips and tongue. The discomfort of wanting him had spread down to her thighs which were slick with the evidence of her need for him. She ached so much it was agonizing. Surely he had to be in more misery than her.

Daniella clutched at his shoulders in an attempt to draw him upwards. At last he responded by shifting his body up but not without leaving a trail of kisses across her skin on his way. She stared up at him questioningly when he hovered above her, keeping his hips lifted away from her.

"Do you want this?" Nicolas asked her, pushing away the sweaty locks of hair from her face. His hand slid between her thighs, his fingers lightly brushing her womanhood.

The sensation of his fingers sliding over her wet lower lips made her arch her back and moan with unadulterated lust. He held his body above hers in a plank position, hesitating. All he needed to do to enter her would be to thrust his hips forward. Her body trembled under him with anticipation, but he was waiting for her answer before he moved.

"Yes, I want this," she replied, her eyes delving into his to make sure he was not having second thoughts for whatever reason. The uncertainty she saw there made her feel uneasy which unfortunately began to kill the mood.

"Do you want - " he hesitated, breaking eye contact briefly before reconnecting. "Do you want me?"

"Nicky," she sighed, pressing her palms to both of his cheeks to pull his face down to hers for a brief kiss to reassure him. "I want this. I want you. I knew what I was getting with you. I know what you are, and I don't care. My god...you know what I am and yet you're here with me. I love you, Nicolas. Please believe that."

"I do." He lowered his hips, pushing inside of her.

Daniella cried out while he finally slid into her. Not because it hurt. Quite the opposite actually. It felt so damn good to have him inside of her. She was not disappointed or hurt that he had not told her that he loved her in return. Besides, he preferred to convey his emotions with actions rather than words. Her arms encircled his shoulders to hold him close as he made love to her, joining their bodies and their hearts which was a whole different matter entirely than plain recreational sex.

Nicolas moved slow, almost irritatingly slow. It was if he was torturing her by using long, languid strokes, pulling back to the head before sinking back into her gradually until he was completely buried inside of her. It had to be the most diabolical and pleasurable torture ever. She grunted in protest and wriggled under him, greedily pushing her hips up at him to meet him halfway. Eventually he took the hint, speeding up while employing shorter, more forceful thrusts.

Daniella tried to keep her eyes open to observe every expression that flitted across his handsome face. The intimacy between them increased when his eyes would catch hers and hold them before one of them would inadvertently close their eyes due to a wave of pleasure washing over them. She found it incredibly arousing when his eyes would close and an expression of agony pinched his face as he fought for control himself. She was not ready for it to end either.

"Nicky, Nicky," she called, patting his chest over his heart. She smiled at him when his eyes only half opened making him look like a man drunk on lust. "Just end it. Go ahead. Come inside of me."

"I can't. I shouldn't," he protested, moving as if he was about to pull out of her.

"Don't you dare, Nicolas Brown," she said, holding him prisoner with her strong legs around his waist. "Please..."

"Daniella," he moaned, lowering his mouth to hers.

Daniella kissed him passionately while he surrendered to the climax. Her hands grasped his waist, urging him to thrust into her with all of his strength riding out the successive wave of his orgasm. She held onto him tightly as he pushed her toward an orgasm of her own. With one final shove from him, he took her to the edge and sent her spiraling down into the abyss of sexual euphoria. Her arms embraced him lovingly while he lay on top of her, his body quivering and his breaths coming in deep, shaky inhales. She could feel his heart beating against her chest.

Nicolas had achieved his goal: he had gotten closer to her, the closest he could possibly be. Daniella held him tightly against her not wanting to let go. She pressed her cheek to his neck. Although she knew he could not hear, or maybe it was because he could not hear her, she begged, "Stay with me. Please. I need you."


	10. Chapter 10

Daniella was sitting by the pool sipping her coffee relishing a rare moment of tranquil contentment. This morning she had awakened in Nicolas's arms. For once he had not abandoned her in the predawn hours while she slept. Her body shivered with excitement while her mind replayed how he had made love to her this morning before leaving her. He was an attentive lover, slow and methodical, searching for the right spots and concentrating on them when he found them to bring her the most pleasure. Before he had slipped away, he had kissed her on the forehead, then the lips. Not a word, not a gesture that mimicked speech, had been exchanged between them. Since the sun was not even up, she had gone back to sleep.

Nicolas really did have the habits of a seventy year old man. She wondered how he could get by on such little sleep. He had made love to her several times throughout the night. He was cautious lover as well. She hoped he would not always be so careful with her, treating her like a fragile porcelain doll that might break. What would it be like if he lost control, really went at her with everything?

Daniella hugged her arms around her body, sighing deeply while her imagination rocketed down a licentious track. Her eyes closed so she could more clearly visual the sexual fantasy forming in her brain. She pictured him taking her on all fours, driving his body into hers recklessly, carelessly, with complete abandon. Her belly twisted and tightened into knots of desire.

"What are you smiling about, Dee?" Worick asked, breaking through her dirty thoughts.

"Oh, my god!" she cried, her eyes flying open to see Worick standing in front of her with a lascivious grin on his face. Her whole body tensed and the knot in her stomach grew tighter when he leaned down toward her, coming almost nose to nose with her.

"What were you thinking about? Hm?" he hummed, his lips tilting into a knowing smirk. "It was good wasn't it? Want to share?"

"No," she snapped, heat spreading across her face. She hoped against hope that he would think her blush from being overheated by the sun and not something else.

"You look happy. Content. Like you got a good, hard fu - "

"Ooookay that's none of your business."

"You did!" He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it over to sit down in front of her. "You finally got to do the big nasty with little Nicky. Well, well, I would have never thought it possible."

"Why? Did you really expect him to stay a virgin forever?" She raised the book she was supposed to be reading in front of her face to hide her deepening embarrassment that surely showed.

"What makes you think he's a virgin?"

"He's not?" She lowered the book to stare at him.

"I'm not responsible for your assumptions. Besides, does it matter?"

"No." She shook her head to clear her mind, catching herself talking about something she shouldn't. "I'm not going to talk to you about this. Is there something you wanted?"

"Besides you? Not really." He smiled and continued to sit as if expecting something but she had no idea what.

"Isn't today your day off? Aren't you going anywhere?"

"In a hurry to get rid of me?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, giving her a lopsided grin.

"Yes," she answered bluntly.

"I'll be going into the city in a little while. I have business to attend to. I just wanted to see if there was anything you needed. But I guess someone else is taking care of all your needs now." He pressed the palm of his hand over the eye patch covering his eye. Drawing in air sharply, it made a hissing noise through his gritted teeth.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, closing her book and laying it on the table. Her eyebrows drew together with concern. His hand was still pressed to the patch while his teeth remained clenched in his effort to bear the discomfort. She stood up from her chair, walking over to him. Placing the tips of her fingers against his cheek, she tipped his face upwards.

"Sometimes it still hurts." He chuckled mirthlessly lowering his hand and opening his eye to look at her while her fingers delicately traced the oval shaped leather eye patch. "I used to laugh at old people when they would say rain was coming because they could feel it in their bones. But there must be a storm brewing somewhere. I feel it."

"Another one?" she murmured, sliding her hands through his hair to where the patch was tied securely at the back of his head.

The eye patch matched the black shirt he wore over the blue jewel toned silk tank top that was the same sapphire shade of his good eye. He sure did adapt to money well. Maybe his customers were giving him unusually big tips since he was wearing suits and ties. He looked good and smelled good and could be more of the Prince in their daydreams who would come to save them from their boring, loveless marriages.

"You can predict the weather with your aches and pains like an old geezer?" she teased, pulling the string that secured the eye patch to his face to loosen it. She paused before lifting the piece of leather, waiting for him to confirm or deny his consent for her to remove it. He remained silent placing his hands on her her hips as she stood in front of him.

"Do you really want to see?" he asked, his eye meeting hers.

Daniella bit her lower lip, considering if she really did want to see what lay under the eye patch. His eye was hidden for a reason. After getting to know a little about him, she knew without a doubt it was no mere fashion choice to attract the ladies. She nodded mutely, the muscles in her belly contracting with apprehension.

"Okay. Take it off," he consented, closing his other eye.

Daniella lifted the eye patch, wrapping the strings around her finger to hold it securely so she would not drop it on the ground. Her fingers shook as they pressed to his face around his eye; her thumb rested under his eye and her forefinger lay lightly against his eyelid. She could see that his eyelid was slightly sunken in. There was no visible bulge of a solid object underneath the thin skin of the eyelid which meant there was no eyeball in the socket.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper as she gently pulled at his eyelids to separate them.

Worick swallowed convulsively, his adam's apple bobbing up and down in his skinny neck, before he inhaled a shaky breath. He appeared to be physically breaking down an emotional wall to tell her a particularly painful secret from his past.

She carefully opened his eye, unsure as to what was compelling her to do such a thing. A gasp from her was the only sound that filled the soundless void encompassing them. The empty eye socket was not nearly as gruesome as she had imagined. The flesh was pink and smooth like that of a scar. It was nothing more than a big, gaping pink hole in his head. A large scar that was a physical manifestation of the big, gaping hole in his heart.

"My father decided to teach me a lesson about smoking. He burned my eye with a cigarette, blinding me. Nic pulled the damaged eyeball out so it wouldn't cause an infection," he stated plainly, his voice devoid of any emotion. "The doc here in Ergastulum fixed me up soon after we got here."

"I'm sorry," she murmured, not knowing what else to say. Lifting her fingers from his face, the eyelids closed to cover the pink void. She gently kissed the eyelid over his missing eye. "I hate that such a thing happened to you."

"I hated my father. I hated him for lots of reasons. Too many to count. Some of them I can't even remember." He reached to take the eye patch from her hand. Within seconds he had replaced the eye patch and secured it once again. "Then there are other reasons I can never forget." His hands went back to her hips, and he looked up at her. There were tears in his eye. "I've never hated someone so much in life. I don't know why he even bothered to take me in. I was his bastard son. The son of a whore. He was ashamed of me. He hated me. It hurts," he admitted, lowering his face to stare at the cement between his feet. "All of it...still hurts...so damn much."

Worick sighed. He sounded relieved to have confessed a part of his past to her out loud as if he had released the pain along with the words.

Putting her arms around his neck, Daniella pulled his head to her belly giving him a comforting embrace. Her fingers combed through his short shaggy hair as if she were giving solace to a child who had scraped his knee. His desire to get close to her father and his anger with her to run from her father suddenly made so much sense.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry your father was such an unbelievably big asshole."

"Yeah, me too." He turned his head to press his face into her belly. The action had pushed up her shirt and the smooth skin of his cheek contacted the sensitive skin over her flat abdomen. His fingers gripped her waist to hold her close and to prevent her from backing away from him. "You don't have to keep apologizing for something someone else did. It's not your fault."

Daniella held her breath when his lips grazed the skin above her belly button while he spoke. Her fingers pushed into his soft hair, holding handfuls of it when his lips brushed across her skin again. This time he had purposely placed a kiss on the skin making it tingle.

"Worick, please don't," she begged, pulling his head back slightly to break the skin to skin contact with him. "I love him. Please, don't do this. He's your friend."

"There's something you should know. Nic is a chaotic neutral. He's neither good nor bad. He does not care if he lives or dies, having no real regard for his life or the lives of others. He just does what benefits him. He only does what's best for him," he said, dropping his hands from her hips and leaning back in his chair.

"Like you don't?" she retorted hotly. She glowered at him angrily.

"He's only using you because you make him feel good."

"Are you talking about him or you? I'm getting confused here."

"He's incapable of caring for you, of loving you."

"You're a liar, Worick." She backed away when he stood up from the chair. "He does love me. He knows what love is and he does care about others. He cares about you, you dumb, selfish bastard. Don't you know that? He saved you many times. He protected you from your horrible father. He ripped out that eyeball and dragged your sorry ass to the doctor when he could have left you to die. He would have killed me if I had shot you like I wanted to."

"I believe you wanted him to kill you. Didn't you?" he questioned her pointedly, leaning toward her.

"No," she gasped in horror, pulling back from him.

"Ah, Dee," he sighed, walking past her. "You're so self-destructive, and you don't even know it."

"Oh, yeah, how would you know?" She spun on her heel to watch his back while he proceeded to walk away with an arrogant swagger.

"Because I'm like you. We can always recognize in others what he harbor within ourselves. See ya later, Dee!" He raised his arm and waved without turning around to look at her. "I'll be here whenever you need me. And one day, you will need me."

"NEVER!"

Daniella emitted a sound somewhere between a scream and a growl to release her frustration. That damn kid annoyed her to no end. He confounded her and irritated her, sending her into fits of rage sometimes while making her want to love him in other moments. She inhaled a long cleansing breath, closing her eyes briefly before opening them again. How could he say such hateful words about Nic while claiming to be his best friend? Maybe he had said those things to sway her heart away from him in a juvenile act of jealousy. That had to be it.

Sweat trickled down her face. At least she thought it was sweat and not tears. Her eyes moved to the glass like surface of the pool that reflected the blue sky. The water was inviting so she dove in to cool off. She swam under the water, slicing through the water with a wide, powerful breaststroke. She kept pressing forward until her fingertips brushed against the side of the pool. Pushing herself above the surface of the water, she exploded with a burst of noise and flailing of her arms to splash the water. After rubbing the stinging chlorinated water out of her eyes, she noticed the pair of booted feet in front of her on the cement apron around the pool. Her eyes flew upward to meet a pair of amused dark eyes that had been studying her.

' _Are you all right_?' Nicolas signed to her.

' _Fine. What's up?'_

Daniella studied him while he signed to her that he had finished sparring and had come to see her while taking a break. He was shirtless, sweat rolling down his face and chest in rivulets to streak down his nearly concave, defined abdomen.

"Want to go for a swim to cool off?" She suddenly became aware that she had jumped into the pool still wearing her t-shirt and cut off denim shorts over her bikini. Oh, well. It would dry in no time once she got out and took them off to hang them in the sun.

"I don't know how to swim," he admitted, not showing an ounce embarrassment. Why should he be embarrassed? He was merely stating a simple fact. Besides, there were so many other things he could do extremely well.

"I could teach you."

"Okay," he consented. "Be back in a little while."

"Where are you going?"

"To get something to swim in."

"Just take off your pants and boots. Your underwear will be fine."

"I'm not wearing any."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, sinking under the water to cool off her face that had instantly flared with heat.

When she resurfaced, Nic was taking off his boots. Opening her mouth, she quickly closed it again when his bare butt came into view. Why should she argue with him about getting naked? Although he was not being shy, she was suddenly overwhelmed with bashfulness and turned her back. She swam to the far end of the pool warming up her muscles while offering him a degree of privacy until he entered the water. Once she heard him splashing around in the shallow end, she turned and swam back to him.

Daniella paddled toward him, keeping her mouth under the water so he could not see her silly grin. She could not help but be slightly entertained by his present state. Instead of being a fish out of water, he was a terrified human in water who was definitely out of his element. His eyes were round and wide. His hands pushed at the water as if it were something assaulting him that he could shove away. Goosebumps gave the light brown skin over his chest and arms the appearance of the flesh of a plucked chicken. She stood up in front of him, feeling quite pleased when his hands reached for her. He grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her into his body as if she were the hero who had come to save him and he was the damsel in distress. This was an unexpected turn of events that was both entertaining and endearing. She pushed away from him, taking his hands in hers. Walking backwards, holding his gaze, she pulled him toward the deep end of the pool. The water crept up their bodies, rising up their abdomens, covering their chests, then reaching their necks. She was treading water when he refused to take another step because the water was lapping at his chin and his feet no longer touched the bottom. His body wanted to float and it became obvious that he did not like the inability to control what was happening to him.

"Come on," she urged him, tugging on his hands.

Nicolas shook his head, his lips compressed into a straight line of resolve. He had no intention of progressing any further. He stepped backwards, holding her hands to pull her with him. The retreat continued until the water was half way down his chest, and he could once again stand flat footed on the bottom of the pool.

"Maybe that was too ambitious," she mumbled out loud to herself. She pressed her hand to his chest, holding her other hand against his back. He immediately resisted, stiffening his body and refusing to lie back. "Just relax. Lean back. I'm going to teach you how to float."

Daniella guided his upper body backwards, then reached down to lift up his legs until he was flat on his back in the water. His body immediately began to sink because he stiffened every muscle. The fact that he was mostly muscle did not help him float either. Fat floats much better than muscle as proved by her breasts which buoyantly rose to the surface and bobbed like buoys under her shirt. When she moved closer to him to hold him up, they brushed against his side making the nipples harden from the stimulation and closeness of his body.

"Relax. Let your muscles unwind," she coached him, pushing his body up with her arms that were hooked under him. One hand grasped his upper back under his arm and the other cupped his hip. The taut muscles of his behind pressed into her forearm when he started to make a concerted effort to unwind his whole body. Lowering her arms tentatively as he loosened up, she tested the buoyancy of his body, waiting to see if he would sink as she gradually took her arms out from under him completely. Touching his chest, she smiled at him when he opened his eyes. "You're floating."

"Hmmmm," he hummed, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips. Then he immediately sank, his head going under the water.

"Oh, my god!" Daniella yelled, putting her arms under his to pull him above the surface. She inhaled water when he pulled her under the water with him while he flopped about in a panic. Gathering every bit of her strength in her legs, she forced both of their heads above the water so they could breathe in air instead of water. She coughed and sputtered, ejecting the water from her lungs while holding him up to keep him from drowning.

Once he realized he was above the water, Nicolas stopped waving his arms. He put his arms around her, turning her around to commence beating on her back with an open palm to assist her with ridding herself of the water.

"Okay, okay, OKAY!" she screamed, to stop him. Although she was still coughing a little, she needed him to stop because it was beginning to hurt. He was so strong. She was pretty sure her lungs were clear by this time anyway. Just as she became convinced that this swimming lesson was a terrible mistake, her body was brought close to his and he cuddled her protectively to his chest. This part was pretty darn great.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you," he said, holding her tenderly but firmly.

Daniella placed her hands on either side of his face to tilt his head downward so he could read her lips. "I know. I know." She kissed his lips with the gentlest pressure. "I love you, Nicky."

"I know," he responded flatly, cradling the back of her head to bring her face into his chest.

Her heart hurt just a little. Although she did not expect him to say it back, hearing it in return from his lips would be nice.


	11. Chapter 11

I apologize if there are any awful typos in this. I had edited this twice. I was on the third time when a certain site freaked the f*** out and my changes weren't saved! Through angry tears, I tried to reconstruct the changes I had made to the best of my ability. I hope you enjoy the chapter and thank you for reading! :D

* * *

Daniella tapped on the door of her father's office before twisting the knob to go inside without waiting for a verbal invitation. Her father had called her here and was expecting her at this time so her arrival should not come as a surprise to him. However, the presence of Miles at this little meeting did come as a surprise to her. She stopped short after entering the room, blinking at him like a startled deer dazzled by the headlights of a car.

Miles Mayer stood behind her father's chair like a dutiful manservant, his hands held behind his back. The automatic pistol he always carried was displayed prominently against his ribs in its holster since he was not wearing his jacket to cover it. His eyes were averted, staring at something to his right. Or perhaps looking at nothing at all. Whatever the case, he made it clear he did not want to lay eyes on her.

"You wanted to see me," Daniella announced when her father continued shuffling papers on his desk.

Her father was distracted, totally oblivious of her proximity In contrast to Miles' more active and purposeful endeavor to ignore her.

"Yes. Yes, I did," her father stated as if baffled as to why he had wanted to see her. He patted the pockets of his jacket like he was searching for something. His deeply creased brow smoothed out in relief before he exclaimed 'aha!' triumphantly. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to withdraw a silver lighter engraved with his initials.

Daniella smiled when he flicked the vintage Zippo lighter open with a satisfying pop to light the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Her mother had given him that lighter as a peace offering of sorts when she confessed her unexpected pregnancy to him. Her father had told her that Moira had been terrified that he would be furious. He wasn't exactly thrilled upon learning that he was going to be a father, but once he got over the shock he could not have been happier. That lighter was the first and last present her mother ever gave him. Besides her, of course, he had said when recounting the events to her. Her smile broadened upon recalling the genuine affection in his voice when he had told her that story. There was always an underlying sadness in his eyes when he talked about her mother that made tears sting the backs of her eyeballs every time.

"There's a job I need you to do for me," he began, pausing with a decidedly dramatic flair while Miles lifted the brown leather briefcase onto the desk. "I have a delivery for a private collector."

Without having to be told, having done this many times before, Miles opened the case to reveal the contents.

"Private collector, huh?" Her eyes were drawn to the open briefcase that had been modified into a custom gun case with the use of black colored eggshell crate foam.

Two antique dueling pistols were nestled into the foam. Daniella carefully picked up one of the beautifully designed, handcrafted weapons to examine it more closely. It was heavy for its size, the barrel as long as her forearm, with a smooth and highly polished black walnut handle. "French, single shot, flintlock, rifled, .58 caliber, blued steel. Early 1800's?"

"Nicolas Noel Boutet made these. 1795 to be precise. You were close. I'm impressed," her father complimented her. "But then again, you've always known your guns. I'm surprised you're not a collector."

"She prefers to collect other things," Miles muttered, his eyes catching hers. The anger held in his eyes blatantly pushed home the underlying meaning of his words. "But those things are just as dangerous and explosive."

Daniella's eyes narrowed into slits of fury. She positioned the gun in her hand with her finger on the trigger aiming it at Miles who glowered at her without moving a muscle.

"It's not loaded," her father informed her, calming expelling a cloud of white smoke from his mouth.

"Damn," Daniella growled with disappointment. She returned the weapon to the case, gingerly pushing it into the space cut out for it.

"You know better than to play with weapons like that. Loaded or not," he admonished her lightly as if scolding her severely might hurt her feelings.

Miles slammed the lid of the briefcase closed, punching the brass locks with his thumbs to engage them. He stood the briefcase on its bottom side before pushing it across the desk toward her.

"The customer will be meeting you in the basement of the cigar shop. Will you pick me up another box of those cigars while you're there?"

"Sure, Daddy." She grasped the handle of the briefcase, lifting it from the desk.

"Baby?" her father called to her when her hand touched the doorknob. "Be careful and come back to me in one piece."

Daniella looked back over her shoulder, giving him a wink and a smile. "Always."

Daniel Monroe sighed heavily once the door closed behind his daughter. "Miles, I love that girl," he declared for no particular reason except to express the thoughts running around inside his head. "I worry about her."

 _Yeah, me too. On both accounts,_ Miles thought to himself without uttering a word.

* * *

~..'..~

 _'Hey, handsome, want to run an errand with me? I have a job to do,'_ Daniella signed to Nic who was waiting for her in the hallway.

Nicolas answered with a singular nod. His hand covered hers when he reached to take the briefcase from her. There eyes met, and he smiled, an awkward lopsided grin, that looked wholly out of place on his face.

The extraordinary sight of him smiling made her heart skid to a stop before it tripped and slammed into her sternum to start beating again. Her free hand grasped the front of his black t-shirt, wadding the material in her fist while she pulled him down the few inches required to reach his lips. The kiss started out rough and passionate, their lips meeting with bruising pressure before separating quickly. They immediately came together for a more tender and equally fervent kiss.

Nicolas pulled back from her, pushing his fingers through her hair, following the curve of her ear with his fingertips. His hand slid down her neck to rest on her shoulder. When she leaned forward to kiss him, he pushed her back, shaking his head.

"You're right," she sighed in agreement. "We should go or we'll never leave."

"Later," he assured her.

Her fingers uncurled from the handle so he could take complete hold of the case. Her fingers brushed across his, making her face flush from the flash of heat that warmed her inside and out from her head to her toes.

"All right, Nicky. Business before pleasure. We'll make this delivery then I'll take you out on a date. Deal?"

His quick nod of affirmation made her smile broaden until her lips separated revealing her straight white teeth. She wore the big, stupid, toothy grin all the way to the meeting.

"My, my don't you look happy today," the store owner greeted her when she walked into the cigar shop.

Daniella self-consciously pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear while a faint blush colored her cheeks.

The shopkeeper, an older man with white hair, sharp gray eyes, and a thick handle bar mustache, chuckled like a genial grandfather. He looked like he should sing in a barber shop quartet for a hobby. His store had been a part of the Ergastulum landscape since she was a child. Her father always brought her along when he came to buy cigarettes or supplies for his cherished lighter.

"Mr. Hartsell, my father sent me here for a business meeting."

"Through there," he said, pointing to a door to his right.

At first the door was barely visible, blending in with the dark wood paneling of the walls surrounding it.

"Be careful. The stairs are steep," he cautioned her.

"Do you have anymore of those Cuban cigars I bought last time?"

"Of course. I ordered more because I was sure your father would like them. Two boxes of cigarettes too?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"I'll have them waiting for you."

Nicolas stepped in front of her to open the door to the basement. He walked down the stairs first, allowing her to use his shoulder to maintain her balance while traversing the narrow, slanted steps made even more treacherous by her high heels.

Daniella wore a black pencil skirt with white pin stripes and long sleeved white button down business shirt. Wanting to appear professional yet casual, she had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and forgone wearing the jacket. Her one fashion mistake was wearing the black, patent leather peep toe pumps with five inch heels. The flats would have been much better and would not have put her at risk for a twisted ankle or worse yet, a bad spill down the stairs. But then, Nicolas, her hero, was allowing her to use him as a human handrail to steady herself to keep her from falling.

Nicolas was dressed all in black: BDU pants, t-shirt, and tactical jacket along with his heavy black military boots. The white wrapped handle of the katana sticking out above his shoulder sat in stark contrast to his dark attire. Despite his short stature, his hard set face and quiet demeanor made him quite an intimidating figure as evidenced by the startled expressions on the faces of the three people waiting in the basement room.

The room was designed like a rich and elegant study fit for a mansion. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined three walls. A large square table made of deep colored almost black wood sat between the four dark brown leather upholstered smoking chairs arranged facing each other.

An older gentleman with short steel gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache sat in one of the chairs. He was wearing a crimson and black smoking jacket over pressed gray trousers that clad his delicately crossed legs. A thin stream of white smoke rose from the cigar held loosely in one hand. In the other hand, he held a snifter of brandy. He looked like a picture out of a magazine advertising the relaxation habits of the stereotypical rich and ridiculous.

Completing the picture of an old man with new money, a still life of elitism at its finest, standing beside him like a decoration was a pretty young woman. She was probably the same age as Daniella. Her strawberry blond hair had been brushed into smooth waves and hid one of her sleepy looking, heavily made up, brown eyes. Diamonds dripped from her neck and wrist, and her lovely figure was wrapped in red silk.

A tall, wide man with a bald head and black suit, stood behind the man's chair and next to the woman. He was wearing sunglasses and a gun just like a good bodyguard should.

Daniella wanted to laugh. It was like seeing a living joke, a cliched example of bored privilege, people with too much money and too much time. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Oh, well, money was money even when it came from painfully pretentious people.

"Miss Monroe?" the man inquired, his voice surprisingly smooth and pleasant.

She had expected his voice to be gravelly and grating on the ear.

"I am. And you are..."

"Blackburn. Harold Blackburn," he inserted into the audible blank she had left open for him. He stood to his feet, extending his hand toward her.

Daniella shook his hand. The palm was dry, soft, and smooth. He had never done a real day's work in his life. Nor did he shoot a gun on a regular basis. He would have had callouses on his fingers from gripping the gun but his hand was baby soft and unsullied. Actually, he had probably never fired a gun - and never would. He was a collector. The guns would be for display only, a conversation piece at cocktail parties. What a waste.

By contrast, she was a connoisseur. Connoisseurs immersed themselves in every aspect of their chosen vice. The kick of gun when fired, feeling the force that pushed against the hands and thrust back the shoulders, was to be savored. The distinctive crack or roar of the gun, unique to each weapon. The brilliant flash of the muzzle upon firing. Feeling the weight and balance of the gun in the hand. All of these combined to create a full range sensory experience. Cleaning a weapon after a satisfying shooting session was a peaceful, reverential ritual that once again afforded one a plethora of sensory input. The sweet scent of the gun oil, the rasp of the cloth wiping away traces of gunpowder residue, disassembling and reassembling the weapon like fitting together the pieces of a three dimensional puzzle. She relished every last nuance of guns. Her nose wrinkled in disgust when she gazed at the presumptuous collector.

"Please, my dear, call me, Harold," he gushed. He held her hand for a longer than polite time for introductions while giving her a languid and salacious once over with his nearly colorless blue eyes.

"Mr. Blackburn, here is your merchandise," she said, motioning to Nicolas to set the briefcase on the table.

Nicolas opened the case for display in the same manner Miles had used in her father's office.

"Won't you have a seat, Miss Monroe? Lottie here will be happy to get you a drink if you wish."

With a glare at Daniella punctuated by a haughty sniff, Lottie raised her cute little button nose into the air. She most certainly would NOT be happy to get a drink for the guest who was stealing her boyfriend's attention.

"I'd rather stand. I'm here to conduct a business transaction," Daniella reminded him in a steely voice. "This is not a social visit."

Blackburn's smile slipped before he quickly positioned it back on his face in all of its lurid glory. His eyes slid away from Daniella to examine the contents of the case. He picked up one of the guns, carefully inspecting it. Squeezing one eye closed, he stared down the barrel with the other.

 _Moron_ , Daniella thought, rolling her eyes once more like an angsty teenager.

"Very nice," Mr. Blackburn commented, his pale blue eyes dancing when they met hers.

Daniella was not sure if he was talking about the guns or her.

"Miss Monroe, you're a beautiful woman."

Ugh! He was talking about her. Mr. Blackburn was annoying her by constantly using her name. Although he was using a title rather than her first name, which she had purposely not given him, the way he said it still sounded lecherous, making her feel dirty.

The already miffed Lottie scoffed indelicately, thoroughly put out with her flirtatious boyfriend at this point. Crossing her arms over her generous chest that he had no doubt paid for, she resorted to sulking like an infuriated toddler. Taking into account their vast age difference, dear Lottie was nothing more than a mere child in comparison to her lover.

"There's something I would like to know," Mr. Blackburn proclaimed, returning the gun to the case. "What would make a woman like you participate in such an ugly business?"

"I was born into it," she admitted with a hint of pride in her voice. "One day, this _ugly_ business will be mine."

"Aw, nepotism is alive and well," he murmured.

"There is nothing wrong with creating a successful business and grooming a child to be a more than capable successor," she replied evenly. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to lash out with a few choice words and venomous insults. Her eyes flicked over to the pouting Lottie before returning to the arrogant old man. "You're not embarrassed to be dating a woman who people will mistake for your granddaughter?"

Lottie actually snickered, pleased that Daniella could not be less interested in his advances.

Mr. Blackburn clucked his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head as if disappointed by her kindly spoken but spiteful insult. "No reason to take offense, my dear. I did not mean for your inevitable inheritance of a successful empire built by your father to be taken as a personal slight. Shall I take you to dinner to make amends for my unintentional transgression?"

Daniella's whole body tensed when Harold Blackburn reached for her with both hands. His bodyguard, who looked like a Secret Service Agent on steroids, slid his hand into his jacket, possibly reaching for his gun. Nicolas swiftly and soundlessly moved forward, reaching back for the handle of his sword. Daniella pressed her hand to his chest to still him when Mr. Blackburn froze with his hands outstretched in midair.

"Call off your dog," Daniella ordered the man. "If you don't, my friend here will cut off his head before he can squeeze off a single round."

"Gerald, stand down," Blackburn commanded him. Sweat beaded on his wrinkled brow. "I was merely going to shake the young lady's hand to complete the deal. Now, about that dinner - "

"Mr. Blackburn, I regret to inform you that I have other plans for this evening. If you will give me the agreed upon sum for your merchandise, I will be going so you can continue with your day as well." Her voice was stern, businesslike, remaining calm and indicating no threat. She only wanted to get the money and go. Casting a glance at Lottie, she said, "Besides, Mr. Blackburn, you already have a lovely young lady to take to dinner."

Lottie gave her a brilliant smile. The girl was so pretty and could do so much better. But money was a powerful aphrodisiac to some.

"Gerald. The money."

Gerald finally extracted his hand from under the lapel of his black dress coat. Thankfully, there was no gun in it. His eyes stayed on Nicolas who still gripped the handle of his katana. Lowering his bulky body by bending at the knees, he reached down for the black attache case that held the money. He picked it up, stiffly raising his arm. Mr. Blackburn snatched the case, glowering at the over-reactive man. Someone would no doubt be in big trouble later.

"Here you are, Miss Monroe. It's all there, but you're welcome to count it."

"That's not necessary."

Her father had taught her long ago not to count money in front of a customer. It was just rude. Besides, if someone was so stupid as to short change an arms dealer they deserved every bullet that would be coming to them later. She waved her hand toward Nicolas, indicating to Mr. Blackburn that he should pass the case to her companion and not her.

"In the future, if I should require assistance with obtaining something that strikes my fancy, may I contact you?" Mr. Blackburn shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his velvet robe in an attempt to pour on the charm of an innocent young boy. He had not been innocent or a young boy for a very, VERY long time.

"You are more than welcome to contact my father. However, you should know there are certain tastes that my father does not cater to. With that being said, I will be leaving, Mr. Blackburn. Daniel Monroe thanks you for your business and looks forward to serving you in the future," she said with an air of snobbery. Her low voice and clipped tone indicated in no uncertain terms that this business meeting was officially over.

Nicolas followed behind her, walking backwards to keep his eyes on the volatile Gerald and predatory Mr. Blackburn. At the foot of the staircase, he turned to face her back, putting one hand on her hip and the other flat on her lower back. His large hand pressed into the small of her back keeping her balanced while urging her up the stairs.

Upon returning to the shop, Daniella politely conversed about the weather with Mr. Hartsell while paying for the cigars and cigarettes. She would give one of the boxes of cigarettes to Worick. Worick had his own money and could buy his own smokes, but she liked buying them for him. She enjoyed committing little acts of kindness for him and Nicolas both.

With the promise of returning in a couple of weeks for more cigars, they left the cigar shop. Although she still felt a little queasy from the encounter with Mr. Blackburn, her stomach growled angrily at her in a verbal demand to be fed.

"Hungry?" Daniella asked Nic at the car.

Nicolas's head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. He must be starving. That was the most animated reaction he'd had all day.

Daniella stashed the smokes and briefcase in the trunk of the car. Taking Nic by the hand, she led him across the street to the diner.

"Hi, honey, how are ya?" the waitress cheerily greeted them at the door. She was the same one who had served them last time they ate here.

Grabbing two laminated menus from the plastic bin attached to the counter under the cash register, she led them to a booth in the corner away from the few other people in the small restaurant.

Embarrassed for not getting her name last time, Daniella glimpsed at the square white name tag on the blond woman's cotton candy pink uniform. Fiona was stamped into the plastic in black block letters _._ A Scottish name like her mother's.

"I like the new uniforms."

"Just got 'em today," Fiona proudly announced. "You two want the same thing as last time?" She smacked her gum and blew a bubble before giving them both a big grin.

"I can't believe you remembered. Yeah, that sounds fantastic."

"This time I'll bring you one cherry coke with two straws. I'll give you as many refills as you need. Your little boyfriend is really cute," she complimented, giving Daniella a nudge and a wink before trotting off to the kitchen.

Daniella blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl in love. She hadn't felt like this in...well, ever. Even when she was in love with Romeo, their relationship had not been so innocent and carefree. So right. Thinking back, her romance with Romeo was rushed and forced, a mutual obsession.

 _'What was that about?'_ Nicolas communicated with fast hand motions that showed his impatience.

Daniella waved her hand dismissively. A furious glare from Nicolas's dark eyes prompted her to give him an answer. She quickly signed, _'Nothing.'_

It didn't seem to bother him to be left out of the loop of conversation where Worick was concerned but in matters pertaining to her, he did not like not knowing everything that was going on. He flattened his palms on the table, swinging his gaze away from her face.

Obviously that answer did not please him. He must feel that she was keeping something from him. She reached across the table, laying her hands on top of his.

"Hey," she said aloud when his eyes fastened to her lips. "The waitress said you were cute." Her fingers curled around the edges of his hands. "I better hang on tight so she doesn't steal you away from me."

"You've got nothing to worry about," he told her in slow, scrupulously formed words.

"You two are adorable," Fiona commented when she sat their drink down between their hands.

"Thank you. I think." Daniella laughed.

"Your food will be out in a minute, kiddos."

Daniella leaned forward to take a sip from the straw. Taking the second straw between her thumb and forefinger, she held it toward Nicolas giving him the hint to drink. The corner of his mouth curled up in an amused little sideways smirk before he dipped his head to take the straw between his lips. Her hand returned to rest on top of his while they sipped the soda together like a lovestruck couple from a bygone era which matched the whole atmosphere of the diner.

If only they lived in a more innocent and carefree time like that. Maybe she would still have her mother. Her thumb brushed over the back of Nic's hand. Perhaps the man who held her heart wouldn't have been born addicted to a drug that was slowly killing him but would only make him die faster if he didn't take it. God, what a horrible dilemma.

Sadness covered her like a cloud making her feel chilled and gloomy. Nic's hand turned over under hers to grasp it in an effort to comfort her when tears glazed her eyes making them shiny.

"Here ya go, two burgers all the way and - " Fiona froze with the plates in mid air. "Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking. Too much," Daniella added with an awkward chuckle in an effort to lift the mood. "You're name made me think of my mother. Her name was Moira. You have a beautiful name."

"Thank you, sweetie." She set the plates down on the table. "Hey, I'll bring you a brownie sundae for dessert. Chocolate always makes me feel better."

"Yeah, that would be great. But add it to the tab, please."

"Nah, my treat. Besides, you two are my favorite customers, and I want you come back to see me again and again." The waitress tossed her an infectious grin.

Daniella found herself smiling despite the tears that blurred her vision.

"I'll bring you another drink." Fiona took the empty glass from the table and walked away.

Daniella attempted to pull her hands out of Nic's, but he held on tight.

"Hey, Daniella," he called to bring her attention to his face.

"Yeah, Nic." Her eyes connected with his that held the soft, ardent expression she had seen in their black depths precious few times. Each time she saw it, that look made butterflies take flight in her belly. He affected her so deeply that it almost hurt.

"I l-l-l- " he stuttered helplessly. He pressed his lips together, aggravated with his inability to form the words he wanted to say. Leaning forward, he took a sip of the drink. Once he swallowed hard to push down the lump in his throat, he inhaled deeply then tried to form the words again.

Daniella's body tensed, her jaw muscles and tongue straining to assist him with forming the words. She felt like a rubber band stretched to its limit and about to snap when he opened his mouth.

"I l-l-like you," he stammered, his eyes locking with hers. "I _really_ like you. A lot," he added, squeezing her hands while studying her face as if he expected her to be disappointed with his heartfelt yet clumsily delivered confession of love.

"Oh, Nic," she gasped, refusing to allow her tears to fall lest he see them as proof of letting her down.

The words had been so difficult for him to speak not just for physical reasons but due to the emotional motivation prompting him to say them. Daniella placed her feet flat on the floor, pushing her body upwards into a weird standing/crouching position to reach him across the top of the table. Her lips pressed to his for a kiss.

 _I_ _really_ _like you. A lot._

No poetic prose. No sappy declarations. No promises made that would inevitably be broken. Those few plain words, painstakingly pronounced, had been the sweetest ones she had ever heard.


End file.
